


Wicked Game

by obstinatrix, seutedeern



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, F/M, Happy Ending, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-25 07:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seutedeern/pseuds/seutedeern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's reputation as a defender of the weak in elementary school isn't undeserved. He wouldn't have expected a Xavier to fall into that category, but it seems that other people don't see Charles the way Erik does, as a warm, lovely person who should be protected. As the years draw on, Charles and Erik become best friends, inseparable. Everything is perfect, platonically ideal, until it isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're aware that this fic starts out in a way that's reminiscent of the beautiful fic [You Follow And I'll Lead](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1443139), but it's really just the beginning that resembles it a bit. :)

It was more than unlikely that they, Charles and Erik, would ever or could ever be friends. But here they were, on the fifth day of school and it was pretty much settled that they’d be friends from now on. Not best friends, probably not even good friends, but friends nonetheless. Because if there was one thing Erik hated, it was bullying. Bullying against other children, whether they were poor, weak, not able to defend themselves; anything. He even hated it when the rich kids were teased and shoved around, although, granted, this didn’t happen too often.

But Charles was different.

He was rich, yes, everyone in town knew about the Xaviers and their unfathomable wealth, and of course how Sharon Xavier was someone who never denied herself a drink or, indeed, an entire bottle. People _talked_ about this old family which had been the mainstay of this town for generations, and most of the things that were said weren’t particularly nice.

So it was no surprise that the rumours and the strange hostility towards the Xaviers haunted them all, right down to the youngest family member, which happened to be Charles. Sweet-natured, lovely Charles who always had a genuine smile for everyone. They all thought he was taking the piss, that he was just being condescending. Nobody seemed to understand Charles the way Erik did, or at least nobody bothered to try.

After four days of watching, Erik had had enough.

Thankfully, it was over quickly. A rough shove and a murderous glare were enough to keep the bullies away from Charles -- that and the fact that Erik was the tallest boy in their class. The others had yet to catch up with him. Compared to them, he looked downright impressive and potentially menacing.

When the school day was over and Erik was ready to go home, Charles’s voice behind him had him stopping in his tracks.

“You didn’t have to do that, really,” he said, not quite looking at Erik, cheeks pink with embarrassment, “but I just...I just wanted to thank you.” Looking up, Charles offered him a small nervous smile and Erik nodded acknowledgment.

From that day on, Erik never strayed far from Charles when they were in school. Somehow it had become his personal mission to ensure that Charles wouldn't have to spend his days being harassed by idiots who thought they knew everything about him, when really they didn't know the first thing. _Poor little rich boy_ , Erik had heard them jeering at him (although from a safe distance, these days), but Erik wasn't so sure the term was an oxymoron when applied to Charles. Charles was driven to school by a chauffeur, usually collected slightly late. Erik had never seen a parent come to greet him at the school gates, never seen a grandmother fuss at his face with a tissue, never seen him pulled into a hug. Fine, so Charles lived in a big house in the suburbs, had expensive clothes and shoes, had a packed lunch that looked like it had come pre-wrapped from a restaurant. But Erik wasn't sure that any of these things were to be coveted. He'd rather have mashed banana sandwiches and a mother happy to make them, any day.

The worst part was that Charles didn't seem to have much experience with interacting with other children. He'd been tutored at home through his elementary school years, apparently, and Erik couldn't imagine anything worse than being thrown into a school environment with a load of people who already knew each other, when you'd never spent any time with anyone but a parade of anonymous tutors. Okay, so Erik was maybe over-invested. But kids here always looked at him a little weirdly, too, so he knew how Charles felt. Erik was too tall, nudging up against the edge of puberty quicker than anyone else. When other people had Nikes, he had knock-offs. If Charles was the weird rich kid, Erik was the weird poor one. The difference was, they were a little scared of him, and that gave him power.

Somehow, he and Charles ended up sharing a desk. He wasn't sure how it had happened -- maybe a science class where the teacher had asked everyone to pair off, and he and Charles were the only two kids without a Special Friend. You needed one, for these sorts of activities, and at least the class was even numbers, so nobody ended up having to work alone. He and Charles had looked at each other across the room, Charles had smiled tentatively, and that had been that. For Partner Activities, it was always Erik and Charles.

Charles was clever. That was obvious from the first, and the thing was, Erik was clever too, he knew it, and he'd never had much patience for anyone who wasn't. Working with Charles was good for both of them. Even the teacher said so -- "You two are a good match." By which, she meant, Erik and Charles progressed at approximately the same rate, usually understanding things on the first try, while the other kids were still getting confused over the instruction sheet.

"She means everyone else is an idiot," Erik muttered, when the teacher had gone, and the smile Charles gave him was blinding.

"Don't say that," he said, but there was no fervour in it. Erik knew Charles agreed.

Slowly, they became conspirators. Erik had always been something of a loner, always thought he liked it that way, but it was nice coming into the lunch room and having someone in particular to look for; having Charles grin and wave him over to the seat he'd saved. Charles's lunches were always shrink-wrapped, pristine and loveless. Erik had the feeling they were a pretty good indicator of the rest of Charles's life.

Still, he was surprised nevertheless that all his suspicions regarding Charles’s family were confirmed the first time he came over to play. Charles’s invitation had been a little awkward and he had stuttered it out with red cheeks because, holy crap, he was still so very insecure about whether or not people liked him, if _Erik_ genuinely liked him. It had him wondering how often Charles might have been rejected in the past whenever he had asked someone to come over to play for an afternoon. It was more than rewarding to see Charles’s eyes go wide, a smile appearing on his lips when Erik said yes, he’d like to come over after school.

Charles’s mother was nowhere to be found as they entered the huge old mansion. Only a woman came walking towards them whom Erik assumed to be Charles’s nanny, since the girl was only in her twenties. They had a snack together before they sat down to their homework. Charles had been a little tense at first, hadn’t been really able to relax out of fear he might say or do something stupid to offend Erik and thus screw this, their friendship, up entirely. But as the hours passed, Erik noticed that Charles relaxed more and more and he was almost at ease by the time Erik’s mother came to pick him up.

From that day on, a certain sense of ease slipped more and more into their budding relationship, which made Erik more than a little proud. They continued to see each other after school more and more often, sometimes switching as to whether they’d stay at Charles’s or go back home to Erik's, since his house was closer and Sharon Xavier wouldn’t really miss her son, anyway. Erik’s mother certainly had enough love in her heart for both of them, and soon enough came to treat Charles like a son of her own.

After a while, the bullies at school stopped picking on Charles, even stopped talking about him behind his back. Erik, however, stayed. There might have been no need for him to protect Charles any longer from nasty words and semi-violent actions, but he had grown so used to being his friend -- probably his only friend, since he had never seen anybody else around Charles, except for his sister Raven every now and then -- that he didn’t feel like he had to stop it now. He had grown quite fond of Charles, and Erik knew that the feeling was mutual.

Over the course of the next couple of years, everyone at school came to accept as a fact of life that Charles and Erik were best friends. They did almost everything together and wherever they went, one accompanied the other. If you invited one of them to a party, you could be certain that the other would be dragged along. It was...comfortable. By the time they were both thirteen, Erik was almost head and shoulders above Charles, to Charles's great disgruntlement, but they were close enough for Charles simply to flop on Erik in the playground and complain openly about the discrepancy, which only made Erik laugh. Charles would grow soon enough, he knew, and anyway, Erik had had enough of a time of it from being the tallest in the class. Charles was swiftly on his way to being the shortest, but as they edged into their teens, he had his fair share of female admirers. Not that Erik was paying all that much attention, but he couldn't help noticing the way the girls slowly started to gravitate towards Charles in the yard, asking him for the time and suddenly all suffering from a shortage of pencils which required them to borrow from Charles. Charles, naturally, was oblivious. He was always nice to everyone, but it seemed he'd long since given up on anyone except Erik wanting to be his friend.

Erik didn't like to admit that part of him wanted it that way.

By the time they were in high school, the two of them weren't unpopular, as such. They certainly weren't part of the nerd crowd, the Mathletes and the science nerds with their thick glasses and inhalers, tripping over their own feet in sports lessons. Part of Erik still felt bad about those guys, but by this point, he tended to think most people were old enough to look after themselves, so long as nobody was actively being attacked. High school was its own society. He and Charles moved on to the school attached to their middle school, so most of their fellow pupils were kids they'd known for years, but all the little cliques had started to separate out, everyone minding their own business more often than not. Erik and Charles weren't part of the nerd clique, or the cool table, or the sports guys, although Erik was on the swim team and Charles had been captain of the chess club for years. Maybe they were both of them antisocial, but Erik didn't really feel as if this was a problem. Not now that he and Charles had welded their lives together, always making sure to choose the same class options so they'd never be without a partner, always heading home to one or the other's house after school to work on their assignments together.

It was a creeping process, the way feelings came up and evolved that were more than confusing not only to Erik but to Charles as well. They tried to date girls at school whom they found tolerable enough and afterwards, they would exchange their experiences with one another by calling or meeting up.

“It’s not that I don’t _like_ Gaby, I like her very much, but she does this weird thing when she kisses me, you know?” Charles grimaced as he gesticulated wildly with his hands, making Erik laugh despite his confusion as to what exactly Charles was talking about. They were sitting on Charles’s bed with the intent of playing another round of _Minecraft_ on Charles’s brand new PS4, but somehow their conversation about building a pixel replica of the Bavarian castle Neuschwanstein had moved onto the topic of school and girls and eventually dating as well.

“No, sorry.” Erik shook his head, making Charles frown even more. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about and, to be honest, I’m not really keen on finding out either.”

“Consider yourself lucky then." Charles sighed and reached for his glass of Coke, taking a sip from it. “How was your date with Magda yesterday?”

Erik shrugged along with some non-committal grunting sound. “It was okay, but I didn’t like how much she talked.”

“My friend, I think you’ve just forgotten about the whole point of dating. _Getting to know someone_.”

“I’m not an idiot, Charles.” Erik rolled his eyes at his grinning friend. “Magda kept on chewing my ears off, though. You know I hate that.”

“Yeah… So, I take it you didn’t get to kiss her?”

Erik made a face as though Charles had just suggested that he should French kiss a slug.

“God, _no._ I live vicariously through your failure, Xavier.”

“Well, in that case, Erik, you can count on me. You know I'm always happy to share my experience with you.”

"Your _experience_." Erik rolled his eyes and kicked Charles idly in the calf. "You say that as if you've actually had any more than I have."

"I'm just saying." Charles tucked his feet in primly, went on sipping at his Coke. His lips pursed neatly around the straw, and Erik couldn't help noticing the sweet little bow shape they made when he did that, the shine of liquid on the lower lip when Charles let the straw slip out of his mouth. "You've never had a kiss you haven't complained about. _Ever_."

It was true, but Erik wasn't about to give Charles the satisfaction of confirming it. Erik didn't know if it was just their age, or what, but the few kisses he'd managed to wrangle in his short life had all fallen short of his expectations. Maybe that just meant he'd been misled by the media into anticipating fireworks, but all the same, every time he'd managed to get his mouth on someone else's, it had always felt sloppy and awkward. Too dry, or too wet, not _right_. Maybe he was too much of an old romantic (and wouldn't his classmates laugh at that thought?) but it just felt strange, trying to kiss somebody he couldn't really even feel comfortable holding a conversation with.

But then, the only person Erik had ever really felt comfortable talking to was Charles. And it wasn't as if he could kiss _him_ , obviously, so he supposed he'd just have to go on complaining.

"Girls are confusing," Erik muttered. "They want you to kiss them, but they don't want to tell you what to do. Then if you do it wrong, they tell you it's wrong, but not _why_ it's wrong. It shouldn't be rocket science, but they don't make it easy."

"And it _is_ easy, really." Charles's voice was soft, contemplative. "I mean, isn't it? It should be. You just put your lips together and…" Charles tipped his face in demonstration, mouth parting -- "let yourself fall into it, and don't shove your tongue into anyone's mouth until it feels natural, and…" He trailed off, shrugged his shoulders. "Go with it."

Erik's mouth had gone dry. Something about the way Charles had held out his hands, caressing thin air like a lover… Christ. He cleared his throat. "He says, like an expert," he mocked, but it was a weak jibe. Charles smiled at him, not unkindly.

"It's easy, honestly, if you're with someone you're comfortable with." A pause, barely noticeable, and then, "We could practise, if you like?" Hurriedly, Charles added, "I mean, we don't know anybody better than we know each other, and then we'd be more confident in future, for girls and stuff."

Erik eyed him with something akin to suspicion but Charles looked too earnest, too harmless to seem as though he had strange ulterior motives.

“That’s pretty gay, though, isn’t it?” he said nevertheless, scrunching up his nose. Charles shook his head.

“Only if you _let_ it happen,” he grinned back and Erik found himself smiling, too.

He sat up, stretching his back before he shuffled closer to Charles who looked at him curiously. “So, how are we going to do this? Shall I pretend you’re Magda or…?”

“Christ, no, I prefer to keep this all rather professional, Erik, thank you very much.” Charles laughed as he edged closer as well until their knees were brushing.

“Why?”

“Because then I’d have to pretend you were Gaby, and that’s out of the question. You’ve got scruff today.”

“Oh shut up, and take it like a man.” It didn’t help his short temper that Erik was starting to feel slightly nervous as he looked at Charles’s face with his eyes so honest and curious. It was obvious that Charles was nervous about this as well, seeing as he couldn’t stop his hands from flexing and folding in his lap before he’d go back to wiping his palms on his thighs. Erik sighed and took pity upon him.

“Stop it,” he said as he reached for Charles’s hands and clasped them firmly with his own. “You’re making me all anxious about this.”

“Sorry,” Charles apologised meekly, eyes down cast for a brief second and Erik...Erik suddenly felt his stomach swoop.

Tentatively, he raised his hand, not quite sure whether or not he’d be allowed to touch Charles. “Ready?”

The other boy glanced briefly at his hand before he released a shaky little breath and Erik lightly touched Charles’s cheek. Part of him expected to be pushed away, told _no hands_ or something, but this was meant to be practice, after all, right? And you wouldn't go in to kiss a girl with your hands behind your back. Emboldened by this thought, Erik let his hand flatten softly against Charles's face, cupping the curve of his jaw. Charles's mouth was pink and parted, and Erik didn't think he'd have to do much pretending to imagine it was a girl's mouth. He swallowed hard.

"Well?" Charles's voice, Erik was pleased to note, was slightly tense. "Come on, then."

"So romantic," Erik teased, and okay, this was better; this was just them ribbing each other the way they always had. They could do this.

Charles flipped Erik off with two fingers, English-style, and then carefully set his hand down on Erik's shoulder. "Professional, remember?" But Charles's breath still shook as he eyed Erik's mouth for a moment, like it was a problem he was gearing himself up to tackle, and then leaned in.

At first, it wasn't really a proper kiss at all. Charles's mouth yielded against Erik's, plush lips still mostly closed, and it was nice...warm. Erik felt his elbow unstiffen, his fingers curling against Charles's cheek, as they kissed again, and again. Barely kisses, really; just Charles's warm mouth meeting Erik's over and over, until Charles's hand went slack on Erik's shoulder and he breathed out through his nose, a shivering little sigh.

That changed the game a little. Charles's mouth was less firm a barrier, now, lips slightly parted, and unconsciously Erik changed the angle of his head, pressed closer. Their mouths moved tentatively together, still chaste and uncertain but a proper kiss, now, not baby stuff. Without thinking, Erik let himself catch Charles's upper lip between both of his own, and Charles made a soft sound in his throat, like he was pleased. Erik felt his heart kick in his throat -- that was good, wasn't it? If Charles was pleased, then Erik must be doing something right. He shifted, stroked his thumb over the fine skin in front of Charles's ear, and did it again, Charles's lower lip this time, mouthing at it.

Dimly, he was aware that someone was breathing harshly, but he couldn't have said for the life of him whether it was Charles or himself. Both, maybe. Charles was clinging to the nape of Erik's neck, now, his hand warm and gripping too tight, but it wasn't bad too-tight. Erik sort of liked it. Girls never clung onto him like this, like they wanted to keep him there just like this, the two of them kissing without urgency or agenda, no frantic struggle to shove tongues down each other's throats or try and creep fingers under clothing. When Charles's tongue brushed the curve of Erik's lip, it felt accidental, a shock of sensation that made Erik gasp and chase the touch involuntarily, his own tongue tracing the corner of Charles's mouth, the line of his teeth.

And Charles, Charles opened up to him further, practically invited him to deepen the kiss and as much as Erik felt nervous about this, he complied. Thankfully, Charles had lost his initial shyness pretty quickly. He was curious, Erik could tell as much from the way his tongue stroked against his own and from the low hum in his throat. His fingers, too, had begun to caress up and down the nape of Erik’s neck, and he subconsciously tried to pull Erik further in as they both angled their heads a little more, opening up their mouths further.

Inexperienced as they were, never having slept with a girl or even tried petting, both boys started to pant into the kiss with some deep urgent desperation after a while. It occurred to Erik that he wanted to be closer to Charles, that this wasn’t enough and just before he could pull his best friend into his lap, his senses came back and he withdrew gently from the kiss. Charles’s eyes opened slowly and Erik could have laughed at the dizzied look on his face, had it not been for his own dishevelled state. He blinked slowly as his gaze drifted from Charles’s eyes down to his kiss-reddened lips, how they were glistening with their spit.

“That was --” He cleared his throat and didn’t fail to notice how his tongue disobeyed him. “That was nice.”

 _Nice_ was something of an understatement. Erik's whole body thrummed warmly with aftershock, little sparks of sensation still fizzing in his blood. His cock hadn't failed to take an interest in proceedings, either, much to Erik's embarrassment. Clearing his throat, he rearranged his legs and hoped Charles wouldn't notice.

"Yeah," Charles said. The confidence of earlier was gone; this Charles looked dazed and out of it, as overwhelmed as Erik felt. It was gratifying to know he hadn't been the only one so affected by a bit of kissing with another boy. If Charles was all tingly too, then it just meant they must have been doing it right.

"Should we, uh…" Erik gestured vaguely with a hand, and Charles blinked slowly, his eyes lingering on Erik's mouth as if he couldn't quite believe he'd just had his tongue in it. After a second, he shook himself, and seemed to recover at least some of his faculties.

"Yeah, um...homework. Right."

They shuffled down awkwardly onto the floor and tugged work out of rucksacks, Erik taking the opportunity to press his hips hard against the carpet, hiding his arousal. Charles opened their textbook on the carpet between them, and they began to work through the problems, but the warmth of the kiss still burned on Erik's lips, and his mind wasn't much on mathematics. At least, from his uncharacteristic hesitancy, Charles seemed to feel the same way.

When it was time for Erik to go back home, they lingered by the door while Edie waited for him in her car. For some reason, there was a certain sense of hesitancy about their parting, both boys reluctant to say goodbye already.

As Erik zipped up his leather jacket while Charles eyed him, leaning against the door frame with a slight smile and his arms folded across his chest, he deliberately did not look at the other boy when he said, “We should do this again.”

Charles blinked. “Doing what? Homework?”

“No, _you know_...”

“Meet up again?” Charles huffed a laugh. “We pretty much do this every day, Erik. Shall I come over to yours tomorrow?”

“No, I mean --” He sighed, frustrated. And as he looked up, he noticed that Charles was messing with him. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, you dickhead.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles replied and didn’t sound apologetic in the slightest. He cast a quick glance over at the car before he stepped closer to Erik. “I’d like that, yes. Very much.” They were standing so close, it was not necessary to ignore the simple rules of personal space that blatantly but they were best friends and this was normal for them. When it came down to it, they were always kind of drifting towards one another by some invisible force.

“See you tomorrow,” Erik said, his voice barely above a soft murmur and pressed a light kiss to Charles’s lips. When he withdrew, Charles looked pleased.

“This counts as practice, too?”

“Of course.”

“Have a nice evening, Erik."

It didn't take long for the 'practices' to become almost a ritual. Barely a day went by when they wouldn't take a break from studying or video games to kiss -- all in the name of future girl-hunting, naturally. It wasn't as if this was something gay. They'd never send each other soppy cards on Valentine's Day, or hold hands in the park. It was just the kissing, the pure physical sensation of it, and of course it was good; the longer they did it, the better it felt to tongue-fuck Charles's mouth and tug his hair, bite at each other's mouths. That just meant the practice was paying off.

Or so they told themselves, at least, and each other. If they ended up breathless and aroused after a twenty minute make out session on Charles's bed, it was only natural for teenage boys, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time they had sex, Charles was 16 and Erik had just turned 17. They didn’t have sex with each other, though. Charles had slept with some girl he had met at a highschool dance whereas Erik was still with Magda, also attending the same dance.

While they hadn’t lost their virginity to each other, their first times could both be directly linked to said party. Because there _could_ have been jealousy involved, there _might_ have been the asphyxiating feeling of a broken heart and there most definitely was the bitter taste of regret when it was all over. Erik wasn’t even sure how they both had managed to look at each other afterwards because while he liked Magda well enough to be her boyfriend, he had never really felt the desire to have sex with her in the first place.

But it had happened, and he couldn’t take it back now, didn’t really want to as he remembered how Charles had briefly shot a glance at him across the room before he had taken his date’s hand and led her out of the gym where the party had been held. When Erik had allowed Magda to drag him out to his mother’s car for a make-out session, he had well ignored how Charles’s car had been rocking to and fro slightly.

And then sex with Magda had happened.

Which, somehow, made it awkward for him to talk about it the next time he and Charles spent their afternoon together because he wasn’t quite sure himself why he had done it in the first place. Erik knew that Charles had seen them as well once he and his date had finished, so he wasn’t entirely enlightened as to why Charles wanted to talk about it now. But then, they always talked about their experiences and their progress. That was what best friends were for, right? And it was utterly ludicrous of Erik to start getting jealous about things. 

It wasn't that he was possessive of Charles, naturally. The arrangement between them had always been, as Charles put it, 'professional', just a thing they did sometimes, boys helping each other out. If he was envious of anything, it was of the fact that Charles seemed to have actually enjoyed himself, judging from the look on his face when he broached the subject. Glumly, Erik thought maybe it was because Charles was still so freaking short, he hadn't spent the entire time trying not to bang his head off either the roof, the window, or his partner's elbow. Maybe Erik was finally getting his comeuppance for all the teasing he'd done about the fact that he'd grown and grown and Charles had stopped at around the five-six mark. 

At any rate, Charles was smiling when he poked Erik with his foot and said, "So. How was it?" 

Erik didn't need any more information beyond the way Charles was biting his lip on a grin to know that Charles's first time had been fun. Unfortunately, that made him all the more reluctant to admit that, really, his first time with Magda had been something of a damp squib. Nor the fact that she wasn't as good a kisser as Charles, didn't make his skin tingle the way Charles could, didn't touch him in the right places. Maybe they'd overdone it with all their slow make-out sessions, getting Erik's body used to being kissed up slowly, so that now a bit of fumbled necking wasn't enough. 

Fuck, if Charles's 'practice' plan had actually backfired entirely, Erik was going to kill him. 

Not that Erik said any of this. They were sitting on Charles's bed, backs against the wall and feet dangling over the edge. Charles's notepad was in his lap, but he had clearly given up concentrating on their French assignment. Erik concentrated his attention on doodling in the margin of his notebook as he said, flatly, "Fine. You?" 

" _Fine_?" Charles was still laughing, his voice bright and incredulous, good-natured. "Erik, what kind of description is that? I know you like to be a gentleman and you probably don't want to kiss and tell, but come on. _Details_." He leaned forward, right into Erik's space, his expression conspiratorial. "Angela? _Sucked my dick_. I mean I don't know if she was even any good at it, it was kind of messy, but apparently a bad blowjob is like bad pizza, you know -- still good." 

Charles's eyes were sparkling, his stupid pink mouth stretched wide with smiling. Erik sort of wanted to punch him in the face. 

"Yes, well," he said tartly, before he could think better of it, "I'm glad it was nice for you." 

That drew Charles up short. He frowned slightly. "It wasn't for you?" 

Erik sighed. "I told you, it was fine. We just, you know --" He made some vague gestures with his hands. "Did it. The normal way." Erik didn't feel like adding that coming inside Magda hadn't been as good an orgasm even as the ones he usually managed with his own hand.

“The normal way? Close your eyes and think of England and all that?” Erik hated the teasing tone of Charles’s voice.

“You know what I mean.”

“Missionary?”

He nodded quietly, sighing nonetheless, but it didn’t seem as though Charles would let him get away from that topic so easily.

“So, did you even, you know, come at all? Or was it just awkward from start to finish?”

There was something strange about the sound of Charles’s voice which had Erik looking up at him. His expression was open, albeit a little tense, and a spark of eagerness was in his eyes that Erik had never noticed before. And then it hit him. It wasn’t impatience and curiosity that drove Charles into interrogating Erik about his terrible sex life -- it was longing.

Of course Charles (or Erik for that matter) couldn’t flat-out ask to try it with him that way, to prove that he was better than Magda at this and at least would make sure Erik was enjoying himself. They were still calling whatever they were doing ‘practice’ because labelling it otherwise would have suddenly given all this a new meaning.

And so Erik took a deep shivery breath before he answered Charles’s question and tried to respond to the boy’s perverted longing -- “I did, yes. I came inside her, if you must know.”

Charles swallowed visibly, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. "In -- in a condom, though?" 

Erik sighed. "Of course in a condom, Charles; we're not idiots. I don't want to end up a 17 year old unemployed father." 

Charles bit his lip. "No, of course. Did she come?" 

Oh, God. Erik could feel the blood rushing to his face. "I don't know...I mean, how do you know?" 

Charles rolled his eyes. "Did you even touch her clit?" 

Something about Charles's tone was all at once infuriating. As if, just because he'd had sex with a girl _once_ , he knew everything there was to know and could talk down to Erik about it. Erik scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. "Look, it was shit, okay? I came because guys get off even in bad sex. She didn't, I guess." He looked away, feeling suddenly overexposed and vulnerable, as if his skin was being peeled off for Charles to look at the bruised flesh beneath. "I guess practising didn't help." 

"Oh, Erik." If Erik had expected teasing, Charles didn't follow through. His voice was soft, compassionate. Still annoying, but Erik could probably be coaxed. "It was a first try, everyone's crap at everything on the first try. And you're not crap, anyway, at the other stuff." A pause, and then, more shyly, "You're a great kisser." 

Erik's eyes flickered upward. " _You_ managed it okay first try." It was hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

Charles was going a little pink, too, now. "Well. It wasn't exactly _her_ first time, if you know what I mean. I had...guidance." 

"Oh." 

"Mmm." 

They looked at each other. Erik could feel himself awkwardly hardening in his pants despite himself, despite the humiliation that burned all down his spine. Maybe _because_ of it, the two sensations fuelling each other, his mind full of Charles's voice saying _you're a great kisser_ and talking about getting off. Erik swallowed. 

"I just." He sighed. "Kissing's so good, I expected it to be… _great_." 

"Well." Erik could hear the caution in Charles's voice, now. "You've had a lot of experience with kissing, after all. Once you've had more experience with...sex...it'll be just as good, you'll see." 

Erik wasn't sure which one of them moved first. Maybe it was by mutual agreement, but at any rate, a moment later, they were kissing, and this was so familiar, so good; Charles's clever mouth on his and his warm hands on Erik's face, running through the hair at the nape of his neck. Ten seconds in, and already Erik was more turned on than he'd been until right near the end with Magda, when she'd stroked him off awkwardly to get him hard enough to put the condom on. If only things had been like _this_ with actual _sex_. Maybe he needed to find a girl who wanted to do this first, to kiss like Charles for hours and hours until they were melting into each other. 

Now, however, it seemed as though they had silently agreed on expanding their practice-lessons. Or that was at least what Erik gathered from the way Charles’s kisses were a little more possessive today, the way he bit and sucked more than he had before or from the moment that Charles tugged at Erik’s shirt until Charles was lying flat on his mattress with Erik on top of him. He should have felt weirded out when Charles let his legs fall open so easily and he most certainly should have not got between them but it _just fit_. Charles’s legs were made to be wrapped around Erik’s waist. After years of friendship, they were a tight unit that worked so well together that they didn’t have to do much thinking while they got undressed, undressed each other. Much thinking wasn’t involved either when Erik grinded against Charles. He knew that this was right, that this was where he belonged. Magda could have never aroused him as much as Charles was doing at this precise moment -- with his soft lips and demanding kisses, with his urgent groans and strong thighs squeezing Erik’s sides.

They hadn't agreed to anything, hadn't discussed it, but it didn't seem as if any discussion was necessary at this point. Charles's skin was like silk under Erik's hands, pale and freckled everywhere, and Charles's mouth had gravitated to Erik's neck, hot and wet at the bolt of his jaw. Erik screwed his eyes closed and groaned, let himself buck against Charles, and Charles made a breathless sound of approval, arching his back so the stiff peaks of his nipples brushed Erik's chest. 

"Like this," Charles murmured, and Erik became aware, dimly, that his hands were on Erik's waist, sliding down into the dip at the small of his back, guiding him. Pressing them together at the pelvis, Charles's cock hot and unmistakable against Erik's stomach, _Jesus_. He wasn't sure how much good this sort of practice would do them; you couldn't do this with a girl, exactly, but maybe learning the motion -- how to rub against Charles this way, kiss his throat until he tipped his head back and cried out -- 

Charles came with a shudder, fingers clenching into Erik's skin hard enough to leave bruises, and already this was better than anything he'd done in the car with Magda, better as he bit his lip and let himself fall, slicking Charles's stomach as he came. Afterwards, too, it was easier, when Charles shifted under him and laughed half-incredulously, the sound of it so familiar. 

"See," Charles said, laughter still in his voice. "You're good at this, too."

“Maybe I’ll get the hang of it…” Erik murmured against the soft skin behind Charles’s ear while he allowed himself to nuzzle it. Charles gave a contented hum at that, stroking the nape of Erik’s neck while pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re already pretty good at this. But maybe we’ll have to practise more, you know. Give you confidence and all that.” It was supposed to come out lightly, Erik knew this from the little tilt in Charles’s voice, airy and unconcerned, but as he glanced at him, the other’s face seemed...uncertain. As if he quietly begged Erik for something he’d never dare to say out loud.

“I’d like that,” he breathed out eventually, noting how the muscles in Charles’s face relaxed instantly. “I wouldn’t do this with anyone else but you, either.”

“Oh really?” And there it was, the smug little smile which illustrated all too well how pleased Charles was at hearing this.

“Really,” Erik returned the smile and let himself be drawn into another kiss.

This shouldn’t have felt so good, kissing and being kissed by his best friend like this. After all, it was only meant to be mere practice for clumsy boys who didn’t know how to deal with girls and how to make them squirm for more. But here they were, lying in each other’s arms, caressing and kissing each other like it was the most normal thing in the world.

At school, however, things were different. Of course, there were glances and secretive smiles but Erik could never be like this with his best friend outside the four secure walls of their bedrooms. It was maddening, to glance at Charles’s hand in the hallway as they walked to their classes and to fight down the desire to simply take his hand and lace their fingers. Once he had accidentally attempted to do so, obviously not thinking much about what could happen, and Charles had immediately yanked his hand away as though he had burned himself. Yet, Erik was aware of the confused looks Charles was giving him whenever Magda joined them during lunch and kissed Erik or raked her fingers through his hair while she was telling the boys about her classes. When exactly things had started to take a different more serious note, Erik didn’t know.

Nor did he look forward to graduating from school just yet. The big happening loomed over their heads like a Damocles sword and for some reason, Erik felt as though they were both running out of time. Charles would eventually go to Oxford as he had already told Erik with bright eyes and pinks cheeks, tinted by his excitement at the prospect, and Erik would probably visit some college not too far away from where he lived since he liked to keep an eye on his mother as well as the fact that he didn’t have the financial resources to go far, despite his scholarship.

Parting from Charles was inevitable. And it was made only so much more unbearable when Charles didn’t show up to say goodbye to Erik when two days earlier, emboldened by their imminent separation, they had taken their practices to a new level -- when Charles had taken Erik inside himself, joined their bodies utterly, for the first and only time.


	3. Chapter 3

Erik was easily the cleverest student in every one of his classes at the local state university. Some people might have been flattered by that, but the whole thing just left Erik flat. It was no fun being clever without someone else to be clever with, some co-conspirator. He could have got in to Oxford, Charles had told him, and Erik thought he was probably right -- but Charles tended to forget that normal people didn't have the funds to go to a university like that as an overseas student. Erik wouldn't have had a chance in hell of financing that. 

So, local college it was, and Erik was doing his best not to think about the Ivy League schools who'd offered him places he couldn't afford to accept. Sometimes he couldn't help dwelling on it a little, but still -- that was better than dwelling on Charles. 

Erik wasn't stupid. After what he'd done with Charles, he couldn't deny any longer that Magda, much as he liked her, just...didn't turn him on. The thought had crossed his mind once or twice that he might be gay, but he'd pushed it ruthlessly away at first. Charles was his best friend, they were comfortable with each other, so of course the sex was good. Maybe Erik and Magda just...weren't compatible. 

He broke up with her some time during the first semester. He had thought she would have seen it coming, but apparently not; she cried, and then Erik felt like an asshole -- all the more so when he told his mother, and she looked on the verge of tears, too. But it had to be done. If Erik was ever going to know, to understand himself, he would have to try dating other people. 

The first was a girl in his Physics 101 class. She was in fact the only girl in that class, and she was clever, and funny. Erik liked that about her. Physically she was pretty enough, he supposed -- sometimes he didn't understand how you were supposed to tell if another person was 'sexy' or not. But she liked him, and when he asked her out, she accepted. 

She was a good distraction and most of the time, Erik didn’t waste too many thoughts on Charles and what he was doing at Oxford… He didn’t send him any text messages, either, or call him. The underlying awkward feeling whenever he allowed himself to think of their last encounter was still present and since Charles didn’t seem too keen on contacting Erik either, Erik preferred to keep his head down and bumble along in Susanna’s company, until she eventually tired of him.

After Susanna came Sebastian, an upperclassman and Erik’s first encounter with another man that counted. Sebastian was no Charles -- in any way imaginable -- but he was good enough for a bit of fooling around, to help Erik satisfy those desires that a woman could never have fulfilled for him.

Around Christmas time, most students went home, naturally, but Erik stayed. His mother had to do extra work over the course of Hanukkah and she had even suggested first that Erik shouldn’t bother to come home, especially not with the horrible weather situation. They would get to make up for not having celebrated the holiday together at some other point. It suited him fine. He could revise some of his studies and avoid Charles as well, assuming he was back in town to celebrate Christmas with his family.

The last thing Erik had expected, though, was Charles standing in front of his door on the second day of Christmas vacation, his hair and clothes covered in snow and water drops, a bright smile on his lips.

“Are you going to let me in or not?” he laughed and Erik, who stood there frozen and gaping, shuffled eventually aside, muttering out an apology.

Charles looked...well. Erik had always sort of constrained his thoughts of Charles's physical appearance before, when they'd been practising together in Charles's room. But Erik wasn't that boy any more. Sebastian was openly gay, and had praised Erik's body and face in ways that made Erik flush all over. In return, Erik had learned not to hold back in his own appreciation of the masculine form. Seeing Charles in light of his semester of self discovery took his breath away. Charles was smiling, lips even pinker than usual from the cold, his eyes even bluer than Erik remembered. He was gorgeous. Erik realised he'd always thought so. And Charles had come to see him. 

He tried not to let his hopefulness show in his face, not yet trusting it. But when Charles pulled him into a fierce hug, Erik felt his heart flutter in his chest. They had always fit so well together like this, Charles's solid, compact form in his arms. Maybe it wasn't all lost between them. Maybe Charles had come back so they could pick up where they left off, but as adults, this time. 

When Charles pulled away, he was still smiling, fingers going to the buttons of his coat. "Your mum told me you were here," he explained, draping the coat over Erik's chair. "I like your room." 

Erik laughed. "Thanks. I bet it looks like a prison compared to yours." 

Charles snorted. "Hardly. They put the first years in things that look like concrete eggboxes in Oxford, don't be misled. Maybe in two years I'll have a nice room." He flopped down onto the bed like he belonged there, and Erik couldn't help wishing he did. "Come on, let's catch up. How has your semester been?" 

Erik didn't think twice before he joined Charles on the bed. Charles had always had the gift of conversation, and soon they were chattering away like old times, talking over each other, laughing and sprawled against each other on the bed like puppies. Charles was still just Charles. It seemed like he really had been horribly busy; there wasn't any awful secret. Erik smiled at him sidelong. There were still some students on campus...Erik thought he might like to show Charles off. 

"There's a party tonight," he said, trying to sound casual. "You want to come with me?"

“Seeing as I don’t have anything else planned…” Charles trailed off with a small smile dancing across his lips while he nudged Erik’s foot. This little gesture shouldn’t have set his heart beating at such a wild rate but, God, it did. Erik had missed Charles, had missed _them_ far too much to forbid himself from feeling anything at all.

“It’ll start in about an hour. We could go and grab something to eat first, if you like.”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Charles leapt up from the bed, impatient and with childish giddiness. “I’m starving!”

And so they headed out to a diner not far away from Erik’s dorm. Over milkshakes, French fries and burgers they talked about how Charles wasn’t looking forward in the slightest to celebrating Christmas with his family. The only thing that gave him some sort of will to live was Raven, with whom he had already planned a movie marathon over the course of the holidays.

“You should come too,” he said between greedy mouthfuls of fries, munching happily away on them while Erik sipped on his milkshake. “It’ll be just the three of us. We’ll watch all sorts of cheesy Christmas films and get fat from too many sweets.”

Erik averted his gaze from Charles with a small frown. “Ah… I don’t know, Charles, I mean --”

“Oh, come on,” Charles interrupted. “It’ll be grand, you’ll see. Just like back when we still went to school together, Erik. Don’t you miss it, too?”

With a shivery sigh, Erik glanced up at Charles, who looked so hopeful that Erik let himself wonder, for a moment, if Charles really meant _everything_ by saying he missed the old times.

“I’ll think about it,” he sighed, reaching for his last couple of fries, “but I can’t promise anything.”

“Oh, that’s more than good enough. I’ll convince you.” Charles winked at him and Erik quietly feared that Charles was quite right.

*

'Party' maybe wasn't the right word for the sort of gathering going on that night. Erik suspected Charles had been expecting something more formal, possibly on university property and featuring girls in nice dresses and boys in suits. At least, he looked more than a little surprised when Erik led him up to the front door of one of the fraternity houses and rang the bell. 

"Don't they do house parties in Oxford?" Erik teased, watching Charles's eyes widen as they walked in. 

"Sometimes," Charles said, still looking around curiously, "but not like this. Everyone's usually dressed as a banana and glugging Real Ale." 

"As a banana?" Erik raised an eyebrow, and Charles laughed. 

"Come on, I want to partake in some of this genuine underage drinking. Way less fun drinking in Oxford when it's perfectly legal there." 

Erik looped his arm around Charles's waist without thinking, leading him through the crush of bodies. "Okay...this way." 

They were making their way towards what seemed to be the hub of the party when Sebastian caught Erik's eye from across the room. He waved, nodded at Charles, and winked approvingly. They had never had an exclusive relationship; Sebastian wasn't possessive. Erik caught what he was thinking, and blushed, but part of him couldn't help but be proud, too. Charles was here with him, after all. His arm was around Charles's waist, in public, and Charles hadn't protested. 

“Should I get us some beer?” Charles asked, with his voice a little raised above the noise in the room, the music thumping loudly and making the floor vibrate while people around them laughed and talked animatedly. Erik nodded and Charles wriggled out of his hold without missing a beat. Under different circumstances, if there hadn't been so much going on around him, Erik would have found it slightly strange that Charles got away from him so quickly, and usually, he would have mulled it over in his brain, but he wasn’t given much time to do that. Charles returned soon enough with two drinks and pressed one bottle into Erik’s hand. He kept some distance at first, but gave up on it soon enough, surrendering to the pressure of the heaving, drunken crowd. Erik couldn’t allow himself to relax until Charles did -- and he did, leaning against Erik’s side, snug and comfortable while he nursed his beer.

Erik sighed into his bottle. For a moment, he entertained the absurd idea that things could, one day, be always like this, him and Charles, a tight unit and so much more than that. He didn’t realise he had been stroking the nape of Charles’s neck with his free hand until he felt Charles tense against him.

“Erik?” he asked, looking up at him with a small frown, and Erik… Erik couldn’t really help himself.

With a glance at Charles’s lips, he leaned forward, slowly, breathing out his name and he was just so close, almost there…

Charles released a shivery breath before he quickly extracted himself from Erik’s hold. The sudden distance between them felt like a smack.

“Don’t,” Charles stammered out, eyes wide and angry. “Don’t do this, okay? Not here, not --”

Erik didn’t bother to stay. He had already been through this. He didn’t need a second time.

Ignoring what Charles said to him when he left their corner, he shoved his way through the crowd of drunk students and party goers he had never seen before. Leaving this party was much too tempting right now but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. When he turned around, Sebastian Shaw was grinning at him.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite boy." Sebastian was immaculately dressed as ever, hair artfully tousled, wearing that habitual smile that always seemed on the edge of becoming a smirk. "Who's your friend?" 

Erik shrugged. "Someone from school. We --" His breath caught on the word -- "we're -- we _were_ best friends for years." 

"Hmm." There was something assessing in Sebastian's gaze. Erik couldn't tell if he liked or disliked the way it made his skin tingle. "You know, darling, we've all got one of those -- that straight boy we fell in love with. It does no good to chase them, you have to realise. They just break your heart." Sebastian's elegant hand found its way to Erik's jaw, cupping it, lifting his head. "Of course, he doesn't know what he's missing." 

Erik knew what Sebastian meant; knew he was mistaken, even, if he thought Charles was only rejecting Erik because he didn't know the taste of Erik's mouth, didn't know how Erik's skin felt naked against his own. No, Charles knew all of that, and still he wanted none of it, apparently; not any more. Not for real. But that almost made it worse. Sebastian was smiling at him, half sympathy and half lust, and Erik knew it wasn't nice, knew it was probably a bad idea. But when Sebastian leaned in, fingers sliding around to grip the back of Erik's neck, Erik let him, and hoped viciously that Charles was looking. 

Sebastian didn't kiss like Charles kissed. Sebastian, in many ways, was not a good person, and Erik knew it, but in a way, that was what he liked about him: the sense that, in letting himself be taken charge of this way, _used_ , he was rebelling against all that aching love Charles made him feel. Sebastian wanted Erik for his body, and Erik knew it. But there was a certain joy in giving in to that, a relief in letting the older man tug on his hair and kiss him deep and dirty in the middle of a crowd of people, the way only a college party would ever permit. 

Erik couldn't have pinpointed what, exactly, about this was such a turn-on. He was still angry, furious, even. With Charles, perhaps angrier than the situation required. But the anger was pounding in his gut like a second heartbeat, heavy, mixing with the pulse of the music and the heat of Sebastian's mouth on his to twist the fury into a sick, dark kind of lust. When Sebastian tipped Erik's head to get at his neck, mouthing at the curve of it, Erik couldn't resist glancing over, hot-eyed, to where Charles had been. 

He was watching. Fuck, he was watching, and Erik was _glad_ ; glad that Charles's expression was a picture of shock, as if he couldn't believe that someone, some other _man_ , would dare to actually kiss Erik in public like this, as if he _wasn't_ actually ashamed of him. Sebastian would hold Erik's hand in the street if Erik wanted. Sebastian would introduce him as his boyfriend and pet his hair possessively in lecture halls. Sebastian wasn't Charles, but he wasn't a fucking hypocrite, either. 

“Come with me.” Sebastian’s voice was low and seductive in his ear. “I’ll take you back to my place and we’ll continue there, what do you think?”

Erik was still looking back at Charles as he contemplated the other man’s offer. Certainly, the way he nipped at Erik's neck and kissed him right beneath his earlobe was very tempting but -- “I’m sorry, I can’t,” he sighed as he withdrew reluctantly. “My friend is staying over and it’d be a dick move if I left him alone.”

Sebastian nodded with a crooked grin while running his hands along Erik’s sides. “Fair enough. But if you change your mind, you know my offer stands.”

“I know.”

As Erik left, Sebastian gave him a pat on the backside which had Erik grinning despite himself. At least _one_ person in this world wanted him.

He didn’t go back to Charles, though. He knew Charles would follow him if he left, and at least in this, he wasn't disappointed -- Charles followed him immediately, even though it took him a while to catch up. He didn’t say anything when he finally drew up alongside Erik. He merely stared straight ahead of them, hands shoved down into the pockets of his coat while he glared at the darkness in front of them. The only thing cooler than the temperature around them was the icy silence in which they walked back to Erik’s room. Erik almost regretted having kissed Sebastian in front of Charles but he was too proud to admit that. For now, he wanted Charles to choke on homophobia.

As soon as they were back in Erik’s room, as soon as the door fell shut, Charles exploded.

“What _the fuck_ was that?”

The vicious bite in his voice was more satisfying to Erik than it had any right to be, he knew. Erik set his jaw, folded his arms. "What was _what_?" 

"Jesus Christ, Erik, you _know_ what." Charles tore the scarf from his neck more roughly than necessary, throwing it down onto the bed. "You can't just -- you can't just _do_ things like that in front of people!" 

"Oh, _really_?" Erik raised both eyebrows. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he was aware that he shouldn't start yelling back at Charles when he was in this mood. He'd regret anything he said. But Charles was being so goddamn self-righteous, Erik couldn't help himself. "Things like what, Charles? Were you scared all those people you don't know might think you were a great big _queer_ just because you came in with me and then I happened to kiss a guy I've been seeing, who in fact holds my hand whenever we go out? Did it upset you that nobody in that room gave a crap about it, except for you?" 

"Erik, _Jesus!_ " Charles looked visibly distressed now, and Erik almost felt bad. Almost. Yelling at Charles like this was unexpectedly cathartic. "You think I was upset because I'm -- what -- a homophobe?" 

Erik snorted derisively. " _Think_? Charles, I _know_ so. You shoved me off you like you'd been burned. God forbid anyone should see us touching in public, because what they all think is _so_ important." 

Charles was frowning now, that cold, steady look settled behind his eyes. "Or maybe, Erik, I just wasn't happy at being abandoned by the only person I knew at some party he dragged me to, huh? You're the one who stormed off for no reason." 

"You're the one who _pushed_ me!" 

They stood there for a moment, at a stalemate, breathing heavily, staring at each other.

“I did not push you, Erik, I was just fucking taken by surprise, all right?”

Erik wanted to smack that stubborn look off Charles’s face.

“By surprise? _Surprise_? After all -- After all we’ve been through, Charles, after _everything_ this comes as a surprise to you? You have the cheek to talk about surprises here while you were the one who abandoned me in the first place!”

Dimly, he was aware that they weren’t talking about the party any longer, probably never had been in to begin with. Charles must have noticed it as well -- Erik could tell as much from the split second during which Charles’s face fell before he replaced his momentary misery with sympathy.

“Erik, I...I never…You _know_...”

“Yes, Charles, I _know_ enough.”

Tiredness washed over him. He was sick of arguing, sick of the worrying and sick of the angst. He had fucked it up, they both had, and now their reunion was ruined. As he looked at Charles, he wasn’t even sure whether or not they could go back to the innocent kind of friendship they had had when they were children, before this whole mess had started --

“You know absolutely _nothing_ , my friend,” was all Charles muttered before he stepped forward and took Erik’s face in his hands, cupping it not tenderly as he crushed their mouths together.

Surprise gripped Erik for a long moment, clutching at him even more firmly than Charles's hands at his jaw, at his nape, holding him still. Charles was kissing him, fiercely, clumsily, as if he were trying to communicate something he hadn't the words for. Charles was _kissing_ him. 

Erik broke away, gasping, fingers tight around Charles's wrists. "Charles…" 

Charles couldn't just _do_ this, couldn't just storm back in and wash away Erik's defences like this, not if he still didn't mean it, not if he still couldn't commit to anything more than this secret liaison. Charles couldn't do that to him. 

But Charles's face was soft when he murmured, "I missed you, Erik...so much…" and Erik couldn't help but melt into Charles's body when Charles pulled him close, tipped his face up, caught at Erik's slack mouth. 

So much was fizzing at the back of Erik's mind: _do you think you can fix things like this? do you think you can fuck me in secret and deny me in public and I'll let you?_ But then Charles groaned into Erik's mouth, kissed him harder, and Erik knew, with a sinking sense of certainty, that, yes, Charles could do anything he wanted with Erik, and Erik would let him. Whatever Charles felt -- whatever Charles would allow himself to admit he felt -- Erik loved him, for better or for worse. And if this was all he could have of Charles, stolen kisses in the spaces they got to spend together between their newly separate lives, Erik wasn't strong enough to reject it. 

Not hesitating at all this time, Erik pushed Charles towards his bed, still kissing him, and Charles let himself be manhandled that way. It hadn’t been too long for Erik since the last time he had slept with a man -- with Sebastian -- but what about Charles? Part of Erik felt sick with jealousy at the mere thought of Charles letting another man touch him, but another stronger part of him _knew_ that Charles was so far in the closet, he’d stick to women exclusively.

That is, until it came to Erik. He felt a little proud of knowing that -- that Charles would make an exception for him and open up to Erik in ways no-one else would ever get to see. He was _still_ special after all and all his doubts regarding this one point had been wasted time.

He was still driven by fear of losing Charles, though, when he helped him undress; he wanted to make this one count and, maybe, make Charles see that this -- whatever they were doing -- was not so bad. That it was fine to admit one’s desires, to come to terms with it and find peace. Erik would have probably opted for treating Charles gently, but Charles, it seemed, didn’t want gentle. He writhed and tugged at Erik’s clothes with a sense of urgent desperation Erik had never witnessed from him before. He told him to hurry the fuck up and come on come on come _on_ , and when Erik’s mouth found Charles’s cock, he revelled in the sounds Charles was making above him.

He'd never done this for Charles, before. Back in senior year, everything was rushed fumbling and furtive naked grinding under the covers, mouths on necks and throats and hands on each other's dicks. That last time before college had been the only deviation from that rule, as if somehow Charles thought it was more acceptable to let Erik fuck him missionary-style than it would have been to put his mouth on another man's cock. Erik had gone with it, too hungry for it to argue with Charles's inexplicable logic, but then there had been Sebastian, Sebastian's hands on his face, in his hair, _good boy, Erik, that's my good boy_ , and all along, Erik had been wishing it was Charles in his mouth, Charles he'd learned to love this on. Now, Charles was bare again beneath his hands, the way Erik had feared he never would be again, and Erik couldn't hold himself back. 

The sensation of it was better even than in his dreams, the taste of Charles salty and thick in his mouth, his slick smearing against the soft insides of Erik's cheeks as he shivered and bucked. Within minutes, he was frantic, clutching at Erik's hair, and the sound of it only drove Erik on, licking and sucking at Charles until he was jacking his mouth wetly up and down his shaft, arousal a fuzz like white noise in the back of his brain. 

"Christ, Erik," Charles panted above him, the words breaking; "I'm -- you have to --" 

_Do it_ , Erik thought, as if Charles could hear him. The thought of it made his breath stop, of Charles coming in his mouth, fucking Erik's throat. He palmed Charles's balls, tugged at them gently, his tongue working against the underside of Charles's cock, and Charles surged off the bed with a noise that was half-inhuman, almost sobbing as he spent himself over Erik's tongue. 

When Erik pulled off, licking his lips, Charles looked flattened, his mouth wide and breathless and his blue eyes wet and astonished. "Erik," he murmured, and Erik crawled up the bed towards him, caught Charles's face in his hands. Charles made a soft sound, perhaps about to become _no_ , but the dark twist in Erik's gut wasn't having that. 

"You liked that," he said, low. It wasn't a question. "You _loved_ it." 

He kissed him, not gently. For a moment, Charles struggled, but Erik's hand was firm on his jaw and Charles subsided after a moment, let Erik fuck the taste of himself into his mouth while the two of them trembled against each other. When Erik pulled back, Charles's lips looked bruised, his chest heaving. 

"Where did you --" Charles swallowed hard. "You haven't --" 

Erik opened his mouth to lie, but somehow the deep glut of lust in his chest for Charles hadn't quite overturned his anger entirely. The two were in tandem, and Charles deserved to know. It would serve him _right_ to know. "Practice makes perfect," Erik said, and smiled. "That's your philosophy, after all, isn't it, Charles?" 

The shift in Charles's expression was unmistakable. _Jealousy_ , and Erik's heart soared, darkly triumphant. For a second, he thought Charles was going to argue, to yell at him again. The last thing he expected was for Charles to take a shuddering breath, and shove Erik furiously down onto his back, squirming down the bed to settle himself between Erik's thighs. 

If Erik had ever allowed himself to imagine this, he had pictured Charles as hesitant, coy, looking up at Erik with those soft doe-eyes, red mouth spread wide around Erik's dick. But Charles, at this moment, was too keyed-up for that. Charles simply opened his mouth, that mouth Erik had fucking _dreamed_ about, and took Erik in. There was no skill to it, no gentleness, but God, there was enthusiasm, _urgency_ , even, and Erik was thrusting up into Charles's mouth within seconds, despite himself. Charles coughed, throat fluttering, but he kept on, shoving Erik's pelvis down with both hands, sucking wet and earnest at Erik's shaft. It was more than Erik had ever expected of him. It was _glorious_. 

He was on the brink with embarrassing suddenness, tugging at Charles's hair as he felt his climax building in his abdomen, his balls tightening. "Charles," he panted, "Charles, I --" 

Charles pulled off -- eventually. Soon enough that half of Erik's come shot across his cheek, onto his shoulder, but the first pulse he had caught in his mouth, his lower lip slick and shining with it. The sight of him like that, of _Charles_ like that between Erik's legs, made Erik's cock twitch painfully, as if it could wring out more than he had to give, and when Charles looked up, Erik could hardly breathe with wanting him. 

"Come here." 

They moved together, Charles scrambling up the bed as Erik pulled him; Erik rolling Charles onto his back to lick the mess from his face, his throat, until their mouths met again, salty-slick and good. They'd never kissed quite like this before, angrily, desperately, but at last Erik thought he might understand why some couples liked to fight just so they could enjoy how it felt to make up again. 

In the aftermath of their intense make-up sex, they were lying on Erik’s tiny bed, legs entangled while Charles’s head was pillowed on Erik’s shoulder and Erik lazily stroked the hair behind Charles’s ear. He pressed a kiss to the top of Charles's head; Charles stirred slightly against him, but only to rub his cheek against Erik’s skin.

“Have I convinced you now?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly drowsy but content.

“Hm?”

“Have I convinced you to come with me?”

Their eyes met, and how could Erik ever refuse him when he looked so hopeful? So earnest? And yet --

“Let me think about it.”

“ _Think_?” Charles asked with a little laugh as he propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at Erik. “What’s there to think about? _At least_ one week of a super fun holiday with Raven and my own illustrious company?”

Erik tried hard to bite back a grin at the incredulous tone in Charles’s voice but he failed miserably. “Well, what do I get out of it?”

“You? You, my friend, get to spend time with me.” Charles’s voice had turned into a soft purr which Erik knew all too well. It always had him shivering with anticipation. Of course Charles was aware of this since he grinned smugly down at him as he leaned forward to nudge his nose against Erik’s, their lips barely grazing. “And that should be reason enough, shouldn’t it?”


	4. Chapter 4

The day after Christmas, Erik caught the bus all the way down to Westchester. When he emerged from the bus station, Charles was there outside in his car, the window wound down and his face alight with smiles. 

"Erik!" 

Raven was in the passenger seat, he noticed, as he hurried across the parking lot with his meagre amount of luggage slung over his shoulder in a travel bag. There wasn't any need to bring a huge amount of stuff to the Xaviers'; Erik could always steal a pair or two of Charles's underwear if necessary. Erik smiled at the two of them and opened the back door. 

"Raven, it's been ages!" Erik leaned across the front seats to accept Raven's hug, and Charles snorted in mock disapproval. 

"And what am I, chopped liver?" 

"Noooo," Erik said, smirking as he fastened his seatbelt, "but I last saw you...two days ago, before you went back home for Christmas." 

"A flimsy excuse," Charles said, as he pulled out onto the road. "But I'll accept it. I vote we start with It's a Wonderful Life. What do you two say?"

Both Raven and Erik groaned in unison, which was just the reaction Charles had been aiming for.

*

Just as Charles had promised, that one week of holiday was indeed filled with fun, films and flirting -- or, at least, what Erik recognised as such. He almost felt as though he was sixteen again, he and Charles exchanging secretive glances and smiles whenever they thought nobody was watching. Only this time, Raven was around and they were older. Apart from that, it was all too easy to slip back into their old behaviours -- brief touches here and there, stupid jokes that either had Raven groaning with frustration or laughing until she fell off the couch. And at night -- each night, really -- they were fucking in Charles’s childhood bed.

And Charles seemed greedy still, as though he couldn’t get enough of Erik, as thought he wanted to take as much from him as possible within the short time they had together. Erik happily obliged, since Charles didn’t just take but gave back as well. Over the course of seven days, Erik was almost hopeful that perhaps Charles had surpassed his doubts and worries about being with him that way.

Despite how wonderful his time with Charles was, Erik had to leave one day earlier than expected. He was supposed to study for an upcoming exam, a piece of information Charles took with a wry smile and a nod although Erik could see in his eyes that he wasn’t happy.

“Come on, Charles, we both would have left tomorrow, anyway,” he shrugged, gathering his few belongings to stuff them into his bag.

“I know, I just --” Charles sighed, exasperated, running a hand through his hair. “I thought we had _more time_ , s’all… God knows when we’ll be seeing each other again.”

 _When will I see you again?_ , hung unspoken in the air, and Erik smiled.

“How about I visit you next time? I’ve never been to England…”

“Would you?” And now Charles looked hopeful, though not quite believing. “Can you afford it?”

“Well, I can always work. Gives me something to look forward to.”

Charles hummed, smiling at Erik. He seemed much more at ease now. “I’d love that.”

When it was time for Erik to leave, Charles drove him to the train station. Raven had said her goodbye to Erik the previous evening before she had gone out with some friends. Now, Charles and Erik were standing at the platform next to Erik’s train and both of them looked a little embarrassed, not quite knowing what to say to each other. What do you say to someone you had sex with every day for an entire week?

Erik would have liked to kiss Charles goodbye, thought about it for a second, but Charles must have seen that thought flittering across his face, since he suddenly put an arm around Erik’s shoulders to give him a brief hug before he quickly put some space between them again.

“See you in April then, my friend.”

Well. That, apparently, was that. Erik couldn't say he wasn't disappointed at Charles's awkwardness with him in public, but then, he couldn't say he was surprised, either. Baby steps. Charles's entire attitude to the world wasn't going to change in a week, and Erik could accept that. He clapped Charles on the shoulder and smiled. 

"I'm looking forward to it already." 

* 

That last morning, before they got out of bed, Erik had given Charles a lovebite. Erik had been, he thought, quite considerate -- the mark was low enough that Charles could hide it with a collared shirt, if he wanted to. But it was a deep bruise, dark, one that would take weeks to fade entirely. In his first few days of the new semester, the thought of that bruise, his mark on Charles, kept him warm. Charles might be thousands of miles and an ocean away, but anyone who saw him in a t shirt would still know that he belonged to someone, to Erik. 

As far as Erik was concerned, April couldn't come fast enough. 

He didn't hear much from Charles, but this time, that didn't worry Erik so much. Last time, after all, he had panicked, and then Charles had come home and it turned out he'd just been busy after all; that they were still...whatever they were. So Erik kept his head down, and worked hard. He got a part time job in the college library, stacking and shelving, and by March, he had enough to cover the cost of flights. Edie fretted a little at the idea of her little boy flying such a long way on his own, but as Erik pointed out, Charles had flown there and back twice now, and he was still in one piece. 

"Well," Edie sighed. Erik knew it for the sound of her conceding defeat, and in early April, he and Charles sorted out arrangements over WhatsApp, what day Erik should arrive and how long the holidays lasted. By the time Erik finally got on the plane, he was practically vibrating with anticipation. He couldn't wait to get Charles back to his room and into Erik's arms again. 

The flight itself hadn’t been too bad but Erik still found it tedious enough. While he didn’t dislike flying _per se_ , he hated being crammed into the tiniest narrow space imaginable for ten hours while being sandwiched between two obese men who wouldn’t stop trying to pull him into a conversation. Usually, his glares would have worked wonders and people tended to go quiet when Erik wasn’t in the mood to talk. These two men, however, were too ignorant to acknowledge that Erik wanted to be left alone.

Ten hours. Ten hours, and then he’d be in London.

He’d be back together with Charles.

He’d be _Charles’s_.

That thought alone helped him to endure the cramped space, the terrible food, the awful smell of sweat and stinking feet, the much too talkative neighbours and the occasional turbulence.

The second the plane finally touched the ground, Erik breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t wait to get out of this hell pit. As well as the desire to see Charles again, he also was in dire need of a shower and a toothbrush. He felt gross.

The queue in front of him moved slowly towards the exit of the plane, and the entire procedure of having his passport checked and getting his luggage wasn’t over much quicker. For a moment, he was mildly panicking that his suitcase must have been lost somewhere but then it showed up at last and he dashed off to grab it.

While Heathrow was a terribly large airport, the biggest in Europe, Erik didn’t have to walk for too long until he reached Arrivals -- until he was greeted by the sight of his best friend, who was grinning from ear to ear, waving at him. The embrace was tight, almost fierce and with a sweet underlying sense of neediness. Erik buried his face in Charles’s hair and breathed in deeply while Charles squeezed him in his arms.

"How was the flight?" Charles asked when he pulled back at last, blue eyes searching Erik's face. He was beaming as if he would never stop, and it was infectious. Impulsively, without even a thought, Erik reached up to stroke Charles's hair back behind his ears, the rush of joy dizzying in his head. 

"Long," Erik said, "and boring...but worth it." He squeezed Charles's shoulders, and Charles laughed, squeezed back. 

"There's a bus that runs to Oxford from here," Charles said, "but I must confess, I didn't feel much in the mood. I've arranged a cab." 

"You spendthrift," Erik said, but he was grinning. After a flight like that, he wasn't sure he wanted to have to pile into yet another tin can crammed with all manner of assorted humanity, not if the alternative was the back seat of a comfortable cab with Charles's fingers laced through his. "Fine, then; lead on." 

They reached Oxford in a little under two hours. Heathrow wasn't the nearest or most convenient airport, but it was the one with the most frequent flights from New York state, and Charles had insisted that he could fetch Erik in no time. Sure enough, Erik fell asleep somewhere in the region of Aylesbury and felt as if he'd barely closed his eyes when he felt Charles shaking his shoulder, telling him softly, "Time to wake up, Erik...we're here." 

Ordinarily, students were required to vacate their rooms over the holidays, but as an overseas student, Charles was permitted to stay where he was -- provided he could pay for it. Naturally, for a Xavier, that wasn't a problem. Charles ushered Erik into his accommodation building and into the creaky old lift (it had an actual pull-across guard rail, which Erik found slightly alarming). When they reached Charles's door, Charles threw it open with a flourish, and Erik laughed, as he was meant to, as he heaved his suitcase inside. 

"Home sweet home," Charles said, his mouth twisting ironically. 

"It's nice!" Erik protested. And it was, in its own way. It wasn't exactly picture postcard Oxford, this first year accommodation building, but Charles's room was spacious, with its own little wash area, desk, bookcase, window. One bed. Erik looked at it. 

"You look shattered," Charles said softly, as if he'd noticed where Erik was looking. "Do you want to nap?" 

Charles wasn't wrong. Erik's whole body ached all over, and his eyes itched right back into the sockets. But the idea of spending his first hours with Charles _without_ Charles seemed wrong. "Sleep with me?" Erik held out a hand, too tired to think straight. 

To his great relief, Charles took it, toeing off his shoes and smiling softly. "All right. I can always sleep." 

They curled up together on the bed, Charles fitting easily into the cradle of Erik's body, and Erik felt a warm pulse of security reverberate through him, head to toe. He and Charles were together again, the way they were always meant to be. This was going to be exactly what Erik had been longing for all semester.


	5. Chapter 5

He didn’t wake up until it was the middle of the night, and even then, he felt groggy. His inner clock was so messed up with the time zone change, Erik was at first utterly confused as to where he was and what year it was. But then something stirred against him, uttering a little groan of discomfort, and Erik suddenly remembered that he was in Oxford now where Charles was, with Charles…

The clock said it was almost one AM. Erik lay down again with a sigh, and Charles shifted closer to him instantly, wrapping his arms around him in the process.

“What's the time?” he murmured with his face half buried in the curve of Erik’s neck.

“Too late to stay up, too early to get up.”

“Ugh,” Charles sighed and rubbed his cheek against Erik’s warm skin. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

“And I thought I was the one with the jetlag,” Erik huffed out a laugh. His hand was stroking the nape of Charles’s neck, a touch which seemed to be welcome, judging by the way Charles was cuddling up to him.

“Well, I was up the entirety of last night because I had to finish an essay before my holidays.”

“What have I always told you about procrastinating with things?”

“Shut up, you efficient German, you.” Charles grumbled good-naturedly. When he looked up at him, all Erik wanted at this precise moment was to lean in and kiss him.

Oh, how he hated tip-toeing around this man, too afraid of upsetting him unnecessarily. It was as if, every time they were reunited, Erik had to start from the beginning all over again just to work out where Charles's comfort zone had shrunk to in his absence. But Charles was so warm, the nest of his bed clean and soft and smelling of Charles's shampoo and the laundry scent of his skin. Erik sighed, snuggled a little closer into Charles's space. He was too tired to think about this just now. His lips brushed Charles's like an afterthought, and Charles made a soft sound of approval, kissing back gently before he pressed his face into Erik's neck again. With Charles in his arms like this, it was frighteningly easy to fall back asleep -- and frighteningly difficult to remember why they didn't sleep this way every night of their lives. 

When Erik next woke, the sun was streaming in through the window, pale and cool, the sort of overbright ski-resort sunshine that made Erik's eyes ache. He groaned, turned over, and buried his face back into the pillow. 

"Oh, come on, lazybones." Charles's voice, amused, and Erik lifted his head to see him seated at his desk, apparently flipping through a book. "If you get up now, you should be able to shake your jetlag right away and go to sleep on Greenwich Mean Time tonight." 

"What time is it?" Erik's face was still pressed into the pillow, but Charles obviously heard him all right, because he said, "After ten, which means _too late_ for you to still be in bed."

Charles was half-dressed, in a hoodie pulled hastily over a pair of pyjama trousers. His hair was a mess, tousled every which way. He looked soft, and rumpled, and Erik wanted to drag him back _into_ bed rather than get out of it himself, but he didn't dare ask. Not just yet. 

Instead, he made a big show of reluctance as he hauled himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. "All right, all right, I'm getting up. Did you have Important Plans for today, or something?" 

"No," Charles said, tipping his head as he smiled, "except I thought you might actually want to have a look around this place I spend most of my time now, you know. I promise you, most of it is prettier than this eyesore of a building. And then maybe, this evening, I'll take you to a pub and you can get a taste of that side of student life here. Sound good?" 

"Yes," Erik said, smiling back. In his mind's eye, he pictured himself and Charles meandering amidst the ancient sandstone of Oxford hand in hand, but he knew better than to ask for that. Charles had never been any good with public displays of affection. The idea was still pleasant, even without that. "Let's get dressed, then." 

Charles, Erik thought, amused, had clearly missed his calling as a tour guide. He bubbled with enthusiasm as he showed Erik around some of the more famous colleges, reciting what he could remember of their histories, and Erik was content just to follow him and bathe in the familiar sound of his voice. At some point, it was decided that getting on one of those ludicrous red tourists buses might also be a good idea, because, as Charles pointed out, "Who knows what nonsense we're missing?" So, they trundled around the town on the top deck of an open-topped bus, and when Charles complained of cold hands, Erik didn't hesitate to take Charles's hand and hold it in his own, smiling when Charles ducked his head on a grin and nudged his foot against Erik's. Just for a while, just like this, things were perfect. 

When evening came around, Charles was quite insistent on taking Erik to his favourite pub, an idea to which Erik had no objection whatsoever. He'd never been to a pub, and moreover, the idea of actually being allowed to legally buy alcohol couldn't help but be appealing.

That was, until they entered the pub. It was crowded with students -- not that Erik hadn't expected that, but they'd barely got inside before something else entirely unexpected happened. He and Charles were standing at the bar, ready to order a pint each, when someone wrapped their arms around Charles’s neck, which had both men flinching in surprise. While Charles wasn’t really able to turn around, Erik was, and what he saw didn’t please him in the slightest.

“Hello, darling, I thought you’d never come,” a brunette woman greeted Charles and pressed a kiss to his neck.

“Oh!” Charles breathed out, relieved, and turned around to face the woman. “Moira, my love. I’m sorry I let you wait but the tourist tour took much longer than I had expected.”

Moira let her gaze wander over to Erik and gave him a warm smile, holding out her hand as she said, “You must be Erik, right? Charles has told me so much about you.”

“He has?” Erik asked, one eyebrow arched at Charles while he took the proffered hand and shook it. Moira’s hands were small and slim and Erik was afraid he’d accidentally hurt her if he squeezed her tiny fragile hand too hard.

“Oh, yes. You should have heard him those weeks before your arrival. He could never shut up about you. He'd never have stopped if it hadn’t been for one or two tricks of mine.” They shared a secretive smile and -- God -- Charles was actually blushing. Erik was pretty sure someone had just stabbed him repeatedly in the stomach; there was no other way he could explain the sudden feeling of nausea that was overwhelming him.

The worst part was, Charles didn't even look _embarrassed_ \-- or at least, not by the fact that he'd just been accosted by his girlfriend in front of Erik. He was biting his lip on a smile, looking away, as if he didn't even realise what an incredible fucking dick move this was. Bitterly, Erik wondered what exactly Charles had told this girl about him. _Did he tell you how quickly he learned how to suck cock? Did he tell you I was the boy he'd been fooling around with since we were sixteen?_

But, God, if Erik spat those things out in front of Moira, Charles would never forgive him. With a great effort, Erik steeled himself, pushed the pain down into a tight little fist in the pit of his stomach, and said, "He only said nice things, I hope?" Hopefully his smile looked disarming, and not as if he wanted to tear out this girl's carotid artery with his teeth. Not that it was her fault, really. Charles was the fuck-up here. 

"He told me lots of lovely stories about the two of you as kids," Moira said, looking at Charles. Erik thought there were probably a lot of stories she'd never heard. "Get me a cider, Charles, would you? I want to meet Erik properly." 

_Jesus_. Erik cursed himself, Charles, and the whole town of Oxford under his breath as this girl -- this pretty, perfectly nice girl who Charles was apparently _fucking_ \-- led him to a table and sat down across from him. Charles followed momentarily, carrying three glasses very precariously; Moira reached up and took them from him, and Erik couldn't help but notice the subtle interplay between them, the way they worked quite naturally together. By the time Charles sat down, Erik's desperate grip on calmness was slipping again, not least because Charles still hadn't had the balls to look Erik full in the face. 

"So," Erik said, when he couldn't keep it in any more, "how come I never heard anything about Moira, Charles?" 

Charles shot him a look, cleared his throat. "Well...you know. Term gets busy here." 

"Not too busy for you to have fun, apparently." Erik threw Moira a wink he didn't exactly feel, just to hear her laugh, thinking Erik was just teasing them light-heartedly. Meanwhile, Charles -- as Erik had intended -- looked distinctly guilty. 

"All work and no play makes Charles a dull boy," Moira misquoted, leaning over to cup the back of Charles's head. "Isn't that right?" She pulled him closer, kissed him briefly, and Erik's entire body went cold at how easily she did it -- how easily Charles _let_ her. Right in front of him, as if he didn't matter. Maybe he didn't; maybe Charles really did see Erik as just a childhood embarrassment, when a girl like Moira was the real thing, something he didn't have to be ashamed of. 

Erik looked down into his beer. His good mood of only an hour earlier seemed to have drained away entirely. 

If it hadn’t been for Erik’s mood and Charles’s piss poor behaviour when it came to handling their entire _whatever-it-was_ , it might have been pleasant. Moira was a nice girl, Erik could objectively say that much. Under different circumstances, he would have liked her more but now, the green-eyed monster was looming over his shoulder and whispering things into his ear that he’d rather not hear. It was tempting to just flatly ignore the two lovebirds in front of him, but that was rude and Erik had been raised better than that. So he begrudgingly endured an entire evening of watching them flirt with each other while Erik himself wondered why he had come over in the first place when it was apparently so easy for Charles to forget about him. Erik’s mother certainly could have used the money better -- hell, even Erik could have put it to better use than _this_.

When they finally went home, after Moira and Charles had exchanged some sickeningly sweet kisses, rubbing it right in Erik’s face, he had gone absolutely quiet. Not that Charles would have noticed this -- he was blathering on about how absolutely great Moira was, how nice her parents were, and that he had already made plans with her to visit her family in Scotland this coming summer. Erik couldn't manage much more than a few grunts by way of reply. Charles didn’t seem to mind. He was somewhere else entirely.

It wasn’t that Erik would have minded Moira under different circumstances -- but Charles, Charles was _ashamed_ of what he and Erik did. Erik was his dirty little secret, his guilty pleasure. This wasn’t okay. Why couldn’t Charles see this?

When they were finally back in Charles’s room, Erik felt himself fill with such sudden trepidation that he was frozen on the spot for a moment at the sight of Charles’s tiny single bed, his tiny room and the lack of a second mattress. He couldn’t do this.

“That was fun,” Charles’s voice chirped up, light-hearted as ever, completely oblivious to Erik’s inner turmoil. “I can tell that Moira likes you, Erik.” And then, “What did you think of her?”

 _Why would you ask me this? Do you need my approval?_ , Erik nearly snapped at him, but he knew better than that. Instead, he just said, deflated, “She seems nice.”

The other man beamed at him, obviously pleased with his answer.

Erik was the first to get ready for bed. He was hesitant to share a bed with Charles again -- hated the thought of having to share it with him for at least another week and a half -- but since Charles didn’t have a spare mattress, he had to live with their arrangement. He made sure to keep a safe distance from Charles once he had crawled into bed as well, but unfortunately, there wasn’t much room left for Erik to move in. He was stuck between Charles and the wall.

When Charles turned out the light, Erik screwed his eyes shut immediately and sighed under his breath. The only way to get through this without exploding at Charles was to try and get to sleep as soon as possible. Lying in bed with Charles like this was painful, a tight ache in Erik's jaw. He wasn't going to _cry_ about it, obviously. He was far too grown up for that. But still, the thought that Charles could just flirt and cuddle with his _girlfriend_ all night and then get into bed with Erik as if it was all fine, because to Charles, there really _was_ no competition between Erik and Moira… 

Erik clenched his teeth and buried his face in the pillow. _Stop thinking_ , he told himself fiercely. That way lay madness. 

He had just about managed to calm his breathing when he felt the bed shift. At first, he thought he'd imagined it, but then Charles laughed softly (fucking _laughed_ ) and Erik felt the unmistakable dip of the mattress as Charles's body inched towards Erik's. Erik could feel the heat of him all along his back, almost touching. How could Charles not see how uncomfortable it made Erik, to cuddle up to him like this, as if they were a couple, when clearly Charles didn't feel that way about Erik at all? Automatically, Erik stiffened, holding his breath as if to keep from pushing back into that last half inch of space between him and Charles. 

He was holding himself like that, muscles cramping uncomfortably with the strain of the position, when he felt Charles's hand on his hip. "C'mon, Erik," Charles murmured, his breath warm against the back of Erik's neck. "That can't be comfortable." 

_No_ , Erik wanted to scream at him; _no, it isn't, and whose fault is that?_ But Charles, for all his intelligence, was apparently far too stupid to work out the answer to that. Erik sighed. "I'm okay," he muttered. 

A pause, and then Charles tugged gently, pulling Erik back against him and using the leverage to wriggle forward in the same motion. "Don't be daft. You were happy to sleep here last night." 

God. The ache was a physical thing, now, crawling up the back of Erik's throat, a black tangle of hurt and disappointment and anger. Everything had been different last night, when Erik had arrived full of hope and promise. And now, Charles… 

Charles was hard. 

The realisation made Erik's gut dip, hot and confused. Charles made a soft murmuring sound against the back of Erik's ear, brushed his mouth there, and Erik caught his breath. Part of it was arousal -- he cursed his stupid teenage body for its inability to understand nuance -- but most of it was disbelief. Charles couldn't surely be doing what Erik thought he was doing. 

And then Charles's lips parted, pressing a kiss to the bolt of Erik's jaw, and he rolled his hips against Erik's ass, his hand teasing the place where Erik's shirt had ridden up over his stomach. "You're not tired yet, are you?" he teased, his voice low and flirtatious. 

It was the sort of move that, 24 hours before, would have had Erik gasping, reaching back to palm Charles's ass, rolling him over to kiss him greedily. Now, though, the fucking cheek of it galled Erik like nothing on earth. That Charles would think -- that he would _dare_ \-- 

"Charles, get _off_." Erik shoved at him, curling himself up into the smallest possible pretzel he could manage. 

"What's got into you?" Charles demanded, sounding hurt. _Hurt_. Erik bit his lip. He didn't have the energy for this right now. Charles's wilful ignorance was more than he could handle. 

"Nothing, I've -- I've just got a headache, all right?" 

" _Seriously_?" Charles sounded incredulous, but Erik wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a fight about this. He closed his eyes, and lay there silent in the dark until Charles sighed and rolled over, his back to Erik in the tiny bed. 

Erik lay awake, curled up around the black tangle in his stomach, for a long time before he managed to fall asleep. 

*

The rest of his visit didn’t get much better -- in fact, it only got progressively worse from day to day and while both Charles and Erik feigned a blasé attitude about it, Erik felt like clawing at the walls. Charles’s growing indifference towards him wasn’t even that infuriating -- Erik was already used to that. What had him almost tearing his hair out were the accusing glances Charles threw him approximately every ten minutes, as though _Erik_ had hurt him, like he had done something deeply offensive. Or simply taken away Charles’s favourite toy.

By day they kept their interactions platonic, not even on Best Friend Level, and at night, there was a distinct lack of proximity between them. Erik wasn’t used to that. Only the thought of going home soon -- and until then, Erik would have considered _home_ wherever Charles was -- kept him going.

Charles could sulk as much as he wanted.

Their last evening together neared and Erik had already resigned himself to the icy mood between them. Charles didn’t seem as though he was particularly sad to see Erik go when Erik started to pack his clothes in the early evening. Charles watched him from the bed, back propped up against the headboard, laptop on his lap and earbuds plugged in.

Erik nearly jumped when he suddenly heard the other man’s voice.

“When will you have to leave?”

“At eleven,” Erik replied and deliberately kept his back to Charles.

“Morning or evening?”

“Morning, Charles.”

“Oh.”

While he continued to pack the last few things he wouldn’t need again that night, he heard the slight shift of Charles’s mattress, followed by soft footsteps that came nearer and nearer. Slowly, Charles touched his forehead to the centre of Erik’s back, right between his shoulder blades while he hesitantly put his arms around Erik’s waist. Erik drew a shuddering breath.

God, if he were a stronger man, he'd have pushed Charles away at once. Charles didn't deserve to do this to him -- to string Erik along like he meant nothing, like he was a whore to be used when Charles felt like it and disregarded when Charles wanted to be the respectable boy-about-town. It was Charles's fault that Erik had spent his time in England feeling like he had a rock in his stomach; it was Charles's fault that they'd never been, in any official sense of the word, together. 

And yet, the pressure of Charles's forehead against Erik's back still had Erik thrumming with relief, the warmth of his arms around Erik's waist like benediction. Erik knew it was weak, knew he shouldn't let himself be pulled under again by the tempestuous current that was Charles, but perhaps it was too late for that now. He was going home tomorrow, and maybe -- maybe Charles had realised what he was missing. Erik didn't have it in himself to deny Charles this, not if there was the faintest chance that Charles had changed his mind. 

He knew, of course, even as he let his head tip back, let his hand cup Charles's, that he was kidding himself. Charles would never change, and Erik was just some stupid fool who loved him, but Christ, he did love him. Charles mouthed at the nape of Erik's neck, kissed his throat, and Erik felt his breath catch, his fingers lacing through Charles's. 

"Oh, Erik," Charles murmured, and Erik could hear the thickness of unshed tears in his voice. "Erik, please. I miss you." 

God, Erik was only human. Charles sounded wrecked, more earnest than Erik had ever heard him, and he felt his own eyes go wet at the note of desperation in Charles's tone. Before he knew what he was doing, he had turned in Charles's arms, and then Charles was gathered against him, face buried in Erik's chest, his soft hair clutched between Erik's fingers. 

"God," Erik was murmuring, "Charles, you stupid -- I can't --" It was nonsense, panted in between frantic kisses pressed to Charles's face, his ear, the top of his head, and Charles was frantic too in Erik's arms, palms fumbling under the hem of Erik's shirt and gripping his back. Somewhere along the way, Charles lifted his head, and Erik sealed their mouths together before either of them could draw breath. The taste of Charles's mouth was familiar and long-missed, and Erik could have sobbed again at the sweetness of it, the way Charles clutched at him and let Erik fuck his tongue to the back of Charles's mouth, claiming, possessive. 

By the time they were flat on the bed, Charles's smaller body rolled firmly beneath Erik's, they were both half-naked, clothes wrenched frenetically over their heads, leaving hair mussed and eyes wild. Charles was gasping, head falling back as Erik kissed his way breathlessly down the long pale curve of his throat, and then Erik's hand was at his fly and Charles was trembling beneath him, reaching down to help shove pants and underwear together over his hips. 

"God, please," Charles got out, writhing against the sheets in a way that made Erik want to come in his pants there and then, "Please, Erik -- I need --" 

"What, love?" The endearment slipped out unbidden, but Erik could hardly breathe, watching Charles like this, spread out naked and needing and desperate for him, at last. Ridding himself of his own clothes was barely an afterthought, cock slapping up fat and straining against the flat of his belly, and Charles's thighs were parting for him, Charles's nipples pink and taut on the white smoothness of his chest. 

"Inside," Charles managed, a flush spreading slow down his throat. "Erik --" And then he was lifting his knees, spreading them bold and unashamed, and Erik groaned, thumbed at the ridge of Charles's perineum until Charles shivered and bucked helplessly. 

"Yes," Erik breathed, voice a weak rasping sound in his throat. "God, Charles." 

Charles reached out and fumbled with the top drawer of his bedside table. As he noticed Erik’s small frown at the tube of lube in his hands, he coloured.

“I bought some when I heard you’d be coming over…” he confessed, embarrassment written all over his pink face. Grinning, Erik leaned forward and kissed him again, showed Charles how pleased he was to know this. Charles made a low sound at the back of his throat while he withdrew from the kiss with a small laugh.

“Erik, if you’re not going to fuck me now, I’ll come from this only.”

It might have been a little careless not to use condoms but Erik was certain that both he and Charles were clean. Besides, it had been too long since their last time together, and while he still felt as though he shouldn’t be doing this -- giving in to Charles -- he couldn’t stop himself now. Even if he had wanted to.

Charles was beautiful like this, with his flushed cheeks and bright eyes, biting his bottom lip as he looked up at Erik, the eye contact making all this even more intimate somehow. Erik couldn't bear to look away as he slicked up his fingers, found his way between Charles's thighs again and started to circle him, not quite penetrating, but teasing the clenched furl of muscle until Charles was open-mouthed and gasping, hips lifting towards Erik's hand. 

"Erik." Charles's voice was thready, now, barely a whisper. "Erik, come _on_." 

Erik was only human, and the tone of Charles's voice would have tried the patience of a saint. Another fumble of the lube bottle later, and Erik was slicking his own cock with far more than he needed, crowding in between Charles's thighs; he would have taken his time to fuck Charles open on his fingers, but Charles was impatient, clutching at Erik's waist, and Erik had done research enough to know all that wasn't _really_ necessary. Not, at least, when Charles was arching his back and tugging at Erik's ass until Erik's cock nudged bluntly against his hole, and God -- 

"Charles," Erik hissed through his teeth, his eyes closing involuntarily. "Charles -- Jesus --" 

"Yesssssss." Charles's every muscle was clenched tight, his thighs spasming around Erik's waist. He was hot inside like nothing Erik had ever known, all fierce scalding tightness, and as he inched his way in, Charles whimpered and murmured and canted his pelvis for Erik to make use of, eyes closed and red mouth parted. He was perfect like this, a tableau of wanton desperation, a vessel for Erik's yearning. Erik could feel himself trembling as he sank the final few inches into Charles's body, bottomed out and felt Charles shiver around him, at once grateful and amazed. 

Erik began to move, and Charles followed. He reached up to pull Erik down against him, running his fingers through Erik’s hair and stroking the back of his head, the nape of his neck until he was clutching at his shoulders, moaning for _more_. Erik leaned forward to kiss him, nip at Charles’s lips and let, for once, show how much he needed him.

 _I’m in love with you_ , was almost at the tip of his tongue, and perhaps he even said it because Charles looked up at him with such a softness in his eyes Erik had never seen before.

When he came, his forehead was touching Charles’s, both of them sharing the same desperate breath. Charles took Erik’s hand and guided it to his cock, breathing out a quiet, “Please, darling,” and Erik obeyed. It didn’t take long for Charles to come as well and they were kissing messily when it happened, all tongues and teeth and spit, and it was _wonderful_.

They'd never done it like this, not quite; never so full of open tenderness. Erik's heart felt full, love spilling out of his chest until he couldn't contain it any longer. He propped himself on his elbows over Charles's spent body, kissing his face, his neck. Charles was half-sobbing, clinging to him. At length, as Erik's mind began to reassemble its fragments into something half coherent, it occurred to him that he was probably heavy, but as he made to shift, Charles clutched at him, his voice broken as he urged, "No, don't leave me." Charles's hands were splayed in the centre of Erik's back, his legs locked around Erik's, pinning their bodies together. "Stay." 

Erik couldn't hear that plea and not be moved. Carefully, he managed to manoeuvre himself so that his weight was mostly on the bed next to Charles, although his arms and legs were still thrown over him, and he gathered Charles close against his chest. Charles sighed, a sound of utter contentment, and Erik let his fingers card through Charles's soft hair. 

"I love you," he said, without thinking. It seemed so obvious now, it might as well be voice. "I thought I'd lost you." 

"You could never lose me," Charles murmured drowsily, after a moment. He leaned up and pressed a kiss to Erik's mouth. "You were the one who pulled away, darling. I thought you didn't want me any more." 

Erik blinked. Something of the post-orgasmic bliss began to ebb away, and he shifted slightly to look at Charles's face. "Charles...that wasn't it at all. But when I get here and you show me your girlfriend, what was I supposed to think?" Erik shook his head, not wanting to lose the warm feeling. "But, you know -- never mind. That's over now." He stroked Charles's hair. "We can be together properly." 

Charles was humming absentmindedly and caressing Erik’s chest but then he stopped so suddenly, looking up at him with his eyebrows drawn together, that Erik instantly regretted his words.

“Properly?” Charles asked, “What do you mean properly?”

“Well, you know.” Erik took a breath, summoning all the courage he had left. “You and me. As a couple.” While he was still in the process of saying this, Charles shifted away from him, his eyes widening at the realisation of what Erik was saying.

“No. No, Erik, don’t.”

Erik gaped at him, couldn’t really help himself. He should have expected this. “What do you _mean_ , Charles? Why not?”

“Because -- it’s, it’s not what I am, all right?”

“ _What_ 's not what you are?” His blood was boiling, pulse hammering loudly in his ears. “Do you even hear yourself talk? What do you think we just did? What we’ve been doing for years? What do you think _I am_?”

Charles seemed to shrink right before his eyes. Erik didn’t care.

“I don’t think you’re anything, Erik, I just… I don’t swing that way. This isn’t me. I’m not gay.”

“Oh, right, that’s why you like it so much when I fuck you up the ass, is that right?” Erik didn’t realise he had started to yell until he noticed the frightened look on the other man’s face. He took a deep breath in a weak attempt to calm himself down. “You’re a fucking hypocrite, Charles.”

Jesus Christ. Erik could hardly see straight through the descending red haze. A minute earlier, he'd been so content, warm and languid with the knowledge that finally, finally, Charles loved him, Charles wanted to _be_ with him -- except it hadn't been that after all, had it? Erik had no doubt that Charles did love him. But at this stage, that was entirely beside the point. 

Charles was twisting his hands together, one of his classic signs of distress. "I just don't see why you want to make things complicated like that," he said. His voice sounded pitiful. "Why can't we just go on as we always have? What's wrong with this?" 

Fucking hell. Erik couldn't believe his ears. He sat up abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his back to Charles. "Are you seriously so fucking stupid?" He turned his head, incredulous, pinning Charles with his gaze. "What do you mean, _what's wrong with this?_ Charles, _I love you_. I want to be with you. I want to do this with you. _All the time_." 

Charles blinked, and Erik knew before he even opened his mouth that what was about to come out would be disappointing. 

He wasn't wrong. 

"Well, then," he said, as if coaxing a small child, "if you want to do this, why can't we do it? I don't understand you sometimes, Erik." 

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ." Erik pressed his hands to his face. He thought he might actually explode if he couldn't knock some sense into Charles's thick skull. "How can you _not get it?_ " He was breathless with anger, now, his whole body tight with it. "I don't want to do _this_. I don't want to be your dirty little secret shame, I don't want to just hang around waiting for you to decide you're finished playing the straight party boy and come home to demand a fuck, like I'm some _whore_. The moment I got here, practically, you introduced me to your _girlfriend_. How do you think that made me feel?" 

Charles's eyes were welling up, now, liquid blue. "Erik, I -- I mean, you and I, we're not…" He trailed off, sighed. "Why shouldn't I have a girlfriend?" 

Erik sighed heavily. "You know what? You can _have_ a girlfriend. But you can't just play with me like this, Charles, _Jesus_. You can have a girlfriend or you can have me. You can't have a girlfriend and also expect to be able to fuck around with me on the side, because I'm _just Erik_ and we're _just_ fooling around. I don't know why I keep getting my hopes up just to come back and have my heart stamped on like this." Erik could feel his voice breaking, but there was no stopping the tirade, now; all his bile and pain and fury was rushing out of him like a dam had been opened. "If I'm going to be fucking a man, I want it to be a man who doesn't act like holding my hand in public is a criminal offence. Like he's _lesser_ than other people just for wanting to touch me." 

“That’s not --” Charles breathed in deeply, looking down at his hands. “That’s not true, Erik. I don’t have anything against gay blokes, I just --”

“You’re so far in the fucking closet, you could be crowned king of Narnia, you know that?”

God, it broke Erik’s heart to see Charles like this, speechless for the first time.

“Erik…”

“You know,” he interrupted him, “I’m glad I’m going home tomorrow. I’m _glad_ I’ll be leaving tomorrow because this week with you has been nothing but degrading bullshit to me. You treat me as though our whatever-it-is was some horrible thing you need to be ashamed of, Charles.”

“I’m not --”

“I just _gave_ you the opportunity to stop it and make it real, and if you don’t want that, well then --” He shrugged helplessly. Charles looked as distressed as Erik felt.

That night, Erik decided to sleep on the floor on some shitty makeshift mattress which consisted of two old blankets and a spare pillow Charles had found somewhere in the back of his wardrobe. He pretended he didn’t hear Charles snivelling quietly into the darkness while he willed himself to sleep.

*

As soon as it was properly light, Erik gathered up his things and left. If he was going to do this, make a clean break of it, then he had to do it before Charles had a chance to wake up and confuse him all over again, stupid hypocritical Charles with his stupid face Erik couldn't help loving. It wasn't because he _didn't_ love Charles that he was leaving this way; on the contrary, he loved Charles more than he ever thought he could love anyone. That was why it hurt so much to be treated the way Charles treated him, and _that_ was why Erik had to put a stop to it while his resolve still held out. If Charles wanted Erik back, well, he knew what to do. But Erik wasn't exactly holding his breath. 

When the plane touched down, Edie was waiting in the airport, arms open, and Erik clutched at her more fiercely than he had since he was a very small boy. Edie hushed him, stroked his hair, kissed his face. "Poor baby. It'll be all right, Erik. You'll see Charles again soon enough." 

Erik didn't have the heart to say anything. He only hugged her tighter.


	6. Chapter 6

Erik didn't see Charles again for the next five years. At first, he'd held out for a phone call, a text message, _something_ \-- some part of him unwilling to believe that even Charles could give this up, all of this, their history, this huge thing between them, just because he didn't want to be _gay_. But time passed, and Erik finished his first year of college, and then his second, and he never heard a peep from Charles. He didn't seem to be around over the summers, either. Probably, Erik thought bitterly, he was gallivanting around England with bloody _Moira_. 

By the time Erik graduated, he'd given up even that last forlorn hope. But that didn't mean he didn't still think about Charles. Mostly, he was still angry with him. He wished he could let that go -- could let _Charles_ go -- but somehow, it never quite happened. He dated a few guys in college, but none of them seriously enough to make it worthwhile bringing them home and explaining things to Edie. For Charles, he would have sat her down and come out to her as gently as possible, but none of these guys ever held a candle to Charles. It just wasn't worth it.

What was worth a bit of effort, though, was seeing his mother’s face glowing with delight when he sat on her old rickety couch, one year after college, holding Magda’s hand when they announced they were engaged.

He had met her again at his first job after college, at an architects' office. Erik didn’t know that Magda was the secretary there and when he had had his job interview for his internship there, they both were pleasantly surprised at seeing each other again after so many years. After his interview, during which he had managed to get the job, he had asked her out for coffee.

A second date followed at the cinema -- and Erik tried to ignore the niggling voice at the back of his mind that the film they had been watching was exactly the sort of film Charles would have loved -- and afterwards, they were both eager to give their relationship a second try.

Edie was beaming at them, happy that her son had found a lovely Jewish girl, excited at the prospect of becoming a grandmother soon. And knowing this, that his mother was happy and that he and Magda liked each other well enough to get married, was all Erik needed. He wouldn’t have to hide away with her. Magda would hold his hand and kiss him in public and he could touch her whenever he wanted. All things Charles flat out refused to do.

It was better this way.

Magda was someone Erik had known for most of his life. They'd grown up together, become adults together, and although Erik certainly wasn't in love with her, he did _love_ her. He cared about her wellbeing, he laughed at her jokes, he enjoyed her company, and more to the point, he was fairly sure that she, at least, was in love with _him_. Erik had given up, at this point, ever getting over Charles. If he was going to settle for something else, it may as well be something that would make at least two people happy, even if Erik himself would only be content, at best. He did want children. When he was more their children's father than Magda's husband, he told himself, it would all be perfect. 

The engagement was announced a week before Edie discovered the lump. 

The first thing she said when she sat Erik down to tell him about it was that he shouldn't panic, which, of course, made him immediately terrified. By the time Edie had calmed him enough to explain that they didn't know anything yet, and she'd had a biopsy done, and the results should be back soon, Erik's stomach was sick with anxiety. He was close to his mother in the way only single children of single parents can be, and the thought that she could be taken from him, maybe before she even had the opportunity to see him marry Magda, felt like the worst sort of betrayal from the universe. Edie saw the look on his face and smiled at him, smiled _for_ him, as always, as she squeezed his hand and told him things would be all right. Erik managed a weak smile in return, but somehow he knew that this was only the beginning of their troubles. 

The lump turned out to be Stage 4 breast cancer. It had metastasised, had spread to the chest wall and lymph nodes and was encroaching on the left lung. When the doctor gently delivered the bad news, Erik wanted to weep. Stage 4 cancer was still considered incurable; there were things that could be done to prolong Edie's life, but nothing was going to save her for more than another year or two. And Edie was adamant: if she only had a few months to live, she was going to live them in her own house, with her own son, and not in a hospital bed pumped full of radiation treatment. Erik argued a little, at first, but he knew she was right. He just didn't want to contemplate a future without his mother in it. 

Other people might have been angry, raged at the world, but Edie was more philosophical than that. "After all," she said, "this way I get to plan my own funeral. Who gets that honour, huh?" And, true to her word, she drew up plans, made a list of invitees. It wasn't until she was in her final stages, days mostly spent asleep, that Erik noticed who was on it. 

Charles Xavier. She had an address for him, too, with the note: _address correct as far as Sharon knows_. 

He had to stop himself from storming into the living room where his mother was asleep on the couch. He couldn’t tell her to cancel Charles from the list, couldn’t tell her why he didn’t want to see him again.

Breathing in deeply, he quietly prayed that, perhaps, Charles would have the decency not to show up. Maybe he’d be busy. That was at least what Erik held on to.

*

The day of Edie’s funeral started with rain in the morning and eventually got better when it was time to bury her. During the service, there had been no sign of Charles. Erik already thought that, perhaps, Charles had not accepted the invitation (and some irrational part of him was _furious_ about that) but then he caught a glimpse of him among the guests as they were all standing in front of her grave. The mere sight of him made him feel sick. Thankfully, Charles wasn’t looking at him -- he was only staring at Edie’s grave.

It had been a long time since the Lehnsherrs had been anything more than culturally Jewish; Edie hadn't wanted all the fuss of a traditional Jewish funeral. Nor had it been at all reasonable to try and have her buried within 24 hours. As Edie pointed out, it wasn't as if they followed any of the other niggling little rules of Judaism; she wasn't going to inconvenience Erik by insisting upon that one. Instead, the funeral had been set for five days after she passed away -- peacefully, in her sleep, with her hand in Erik's -- to give people time to get there. Charles's address, Erik couldn't help noticing, was in England. But, it seemed, the Atlantic Ocean wasn't wide enough to keep Charles from bringing Erik's mood down even further at his own mother's funeral. 

"Darling," Magda said, softly, and took his hand. Her large brown eyes were soft with concern. "I know it's horrible, but the service was very _her_ , wasn't it? Exactly what she would have wanted." 

Erik smiled slightly at the memory. Edie had arranged for a rabbi she'd known for years to perform a secular ceremony before the burial, and what had emerged had been a sort of This Is Your Life recount of all the lives Edie had touched -- and all the stupid and amusing things she'd done as a kid. Erik had found himself smiling through his tears at times, and he had to agree that it was exactly what his mother would have wanted. 

Unfortunately, what Erik wanted was twofold: a) for his mother not to be dead, and b) for Charles not to have turned up to make a bad situation worse. Sighing, he squeezed Magda's hand and leaned his cheek against the top of her head. 

"I suppose they'll all want to come back to her house with us and drink a lot, under the pretence of sitting Shiva for her," he muttered. Magda laughed softly, her eyes still on the grave, still waiting to be closed up. 

"Of course -- I think that was in her instructions, wasn't it? 'Bring beer. Turn Shiva into an Irish wake.'" 

Erik sighed. Under other circumstances, he wouldn't have minded, but he didn't _want_ to go back to his dead mother's house with his fiance and a hundred other people, and listen to stories about her and try to smile while Charles, fucking _Charles_ , wandered around disrupting his life all over again. That was done, now; it was in the past. And now Charles had come back like a ghost, needling at Erik's heart just when the pain had almost stopped. 

Once Edie’s grave was closed, every guest individually went to her grave to pay their last respects. Erik was the first to do that and he stood near by the grave, waiting for the last ritual to be over so he could go back home already. Magda was talking to some of Edie’s acquaintances which left Erik entirely alone, except for the occasional person who gave him their condolences. He nearly didn’t notice that Charles was approaching him, and when he did, he bristled.

Charles looked good. The years had given him slightly sharper contours although his face somehow nevertheless had kept its boyish charm. His eyes were still startlingly blue, just the way Erik remembered them, and they were looking at him warily as though Charles tried to calculate whether or not Erik was going to rip his head off.

"Charles," he said with a nod as said man came to a stop in front of him.

"Erik..." He clenched and unclenched his hands, flicked his tongue over his lips. "My deepest condolences. I -- I wasn't sure if I was welcome here but then I thought that Edie was almost more of a mother to me than mine had ever tried to pretend." He gave a weak smile, clearly hoping Erik would accept it.

"Thank you. I know she wanted you to be here." That Erik didn't want him to be there hung unspoken in the air between them.

"Well, here I am," Charles huffed a half-hearted laugh. "And it won't change for a while."

Erik's insides churned at the way Charles looked at him, pointed, like his words had a deeper meaning.

"Why?"

"I accepted a job offer. From Columbia University. Starting next month."

"Congratulations, I suppose."

"Thank you," Charles said earnestly, and then -- "Listen, I was wondering if... If you'd like to go ou--"

"Charlie?" Magda's voice piped up from behind, interrupting Charles in whatever he wanted to say. "Is that you? I didn't know you were here! England's so far away after all." She gave him a tight embrace which obviously startled Charles as he awkwardly moved his arms before he returned the embrace. “It’s been ages since I’ve last seen you.”

"It's nice to see you again, Magda."

"Charles just told me he's moved back to America."

"Oh really?" Magda said, eyebrows raised. "That's great! We should meet up sometime next week and catch up. Today is not a good day to do that."

"I agree," Charles smiled. "In fact, I just asked Erik, if --"

His words trailed off as he watched how Magda looped her arm around Erik’s and linked their fingers while she was still attentively listening to what Charles said. He blinked, seeming as though he had forgotten what he wanted to say.

"If what?" Magda asked and cocked her head questioningly.

Charles averted his gaze from Erik and Magda's joined hands and then quickly shook his head before he smiled. "Oh, never mind. It wasn't important."

"At least," Magda said, "if you've moved back here, you'll be able to make the wedding. Edie would have been happy about that, wouldn't she, Erik?" 

Erik felt his stomach clench. He knew without looking that Charles was eyeing them in horror. Not that it was any of Charles's business, these days, what Erik did with his life. Erik took vindictive pleasure in squeezing Magda's hand back. "She would, too. Would you be bringing a plus one, Charles? Did you bring anyone back to America with you?" 

Charles laughed awkwardly. "No, I'm afraid not. That's part of why I came back, really. Wanted a clean break." 

God, so Charles was single. Erik shouldn't have let himself wonder, but it couldn't be helped. Not that he was going to let Charles pick him apart again after all these years, but some part of Erik still wondered what Charles had intended when he'd asked Erik for a meeting, before Magda had swum into view. Erik shook his head pointedly. "Well," he said, "I hope your time at Columbia brings you better luck." 

Charles ducked his head, smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Thank you. I'm hopeful." 

_I'm hopeful_. It was an odd thing to say, Erik thought, as Charles wandered off into the crowd. His stomach felt hollow, wondering what exactly Charles was hopeful about. Wondering how he himself felt about it. _Charles_ , after all these years, home and single and approaching him, and here was Erik about to get married. 

"Darling?" Magda's arm crept around his waist, breaking his reverie. "We should be going." 

"Yes, of course," Erik said, shaking his head as if it could jolt him away from his distracted thoughts. But it didn't escape his notice that, when the funeral party made it back to Edie's house, Charles was nowhere to be seen. 

Erik would have asked himself why he cared, but unlike Charles, he'd never been that self-deluded. He knew precisely why.


	7. Chapter 7

As Magda had suggested, they met up about a week later. Charles was already waiting for them at a table, books and various worksheets spread out in front of him while he looked sternly down at the paper, apparently correcting something. Erik would have preferred just to stare at him from afar but Magda dragged him into the little café without a care. When they approached the table, Charles looked up at them with an embarrassed smile.

“I’m sorry, I'll clean that mess up in a minute. I just need to finish correcting this.”

“Take your time.” Magda waved her hand dismissively. Erik helped her out of her coat and they both sat down across from Charles who was adding some notes to the paper.

“I thought you wouldn’t start work until next month?” Erik blurted out and instantly chastised himself for giving Charles the hint that he had remembered this little fact.

Charles gave him a pleased smile. “Yes, but the place currently suffers from an _incredible_ lack of professors, so they asked me to start earlier.”

“And you’re already having them write tests?” Magda laughed and Charles joined her.

It was worse than any nightmare Erik could have ever had. He quietly wondered if he had entered the Twilight zone.

“And, Charlie, tell us,” Magda grinned, leaning forward on her elbows. “Is there someone who’s caught your eye already? I mean, you always were quite the charmer at school. All the girls had crushes on you.”

Charles laughed at that although his cheeks coloured lightly. “Oh, well, there _is_ someone, I suppose,” he confessed while shooting Erik a quick glance. “I’m not sure if the feeling’s mutual, though.”

Erik almost choked on nothing. God, but Charles had a nerve, bringing that up in front of Magda. Erik could feel himself blushing. 

Poor Magda, of course, was both oblivious and delighted. "I knew it," she said, laughing. "Charles Xavier doesn't hang around. And believe me, I bet she'll reciprocate. Anyone would. If I wasn't with Erik…" 

She raised her eyebrows suggestively, and Erik smacked her forearm. "Hey! I'm right here!" 

"I know, I know. I'm teasing." She smiled at him, squeezed his arm, but all Erik was conscious of was Charles watching them, and the sound of his own pulse roaring dully in his ears. This couldn't be happening. This conversation was a train wreck, and there was no way to elegantly cut it short without confusing Magda. Charles, furthermore, seemed to have no intention of changing the subject. 

"Look at the two of you, though!" he said, gesturing between them. "This was a bit of a surprise." 

"Really?" Erik met Charles's gaze flatly. "We were together before, you know." 

"A long time ago," Charles said slowly. There was a whole wary conversation going on between their eyes, Erik could feel it. He only hoped Magda didn't notice them sizing each other up. 

"Well," she said, "Erik came to his senses, I suppose. We've been together since just after he graduated. He got an internship in the company where I was working, and we met by accident." 

"What an adorable meet-cute," Charles said. His smile for Magda looked entirely genuine, but a moment later, as his gaze flickered towards Erik, it lost its soft edge and turned critical, smirking. "You've never really seriously dated anyone else, have you, Erik?" 

God, that little bastard. "No," Erik said curtly, "but not for want of trying. Some people just don't want serious, I suppose." 

Charles dropped his eyes at that, and Erik felt slightly as if he'd scored a point.

Magda’s gaze shifted between them, seeming as though she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the current mood drop. She reached for Erik’s hand and laced their fingers together.

“Well, thank God you’ve found me again.”

“Indeed,” Erik smiled back at her genuinely and meant it. He kissed her hand; Charles turned his head away.

“Oh!” Magda suddenly exclaimed. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you come to our wedding, Charlie? It’ll be soon, and I’d love it if you came. You and Erik are such good friends, so..?” She looked at Erik, then at Charles, then back again.

“Soon?” Charles asked after he cleared his throat. “May I ask why? Are you pregnant?”

Magda laughed. “Oh, _no_. We’re trying regularly, of course --” Erik hissed her name under his breath. “But we wanted to do this quickly because… Well, because of Edie. We had thought that maybe she’d still get witness it, but…”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I should have realised earlier…” Charles looked appropriately embarrassed. Erik thought he deserved it.

“So? Will you come?”

Erik looked down at the table. He'd been waiting for this, expecting it, even, but hearing the invitation tumble so easily out of Magda's mouth was still a blow. Their wedding day wasn't exactly going to be the happiest day of his life -- he trampled down the niggling thought that the happiest day he'd ever had was the first time Charles kissed him -- but he didn't want Charles there to make it worse. 

Charles, though, clearly intended to play the long game. 

"Of course," he said, taking Magda's hand and squeezing it. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. Erik and I were such...intimate friends as teenagers, I couldn't stay away from his wedding." 

The word _intimate_ rolled over Charles's tongue, and Erik cleared his throat, looking away. 

"Anyway," he said, lifting a hand to signal for the waitress, "let's get some coffee." 

The rest of the meeting passed with what seemed to Erik to be ludicrous slowness. Charles was his usual charming self, flirting a little with Magda (presumably in an attempt to make Erik jealous) and offering funny anecdotes about his students. Magda, naturally, had no idea that anything was wrong. Erik could hardly blame her for assuming her fiance would want his oldest friend at their wedding. Under any other circumstances, of course Erik would have had Charles as his best man. 

The problem was that everything Charles said seemed double-ended, somehow, as if he thought...Erik was probably reading too much into it, but sometimes it felt as if Charles doubted if the wedding would ever happen. As if Charles was set upon making sure it _didn't_. As if Charles thought he could waltz back into Erik's settled, comfortable life and try to win him back. The arrogance was sickening. Of course, Charles was still attractive, still charming, still the only person on earth Erik had ever felt that _spark_ for, but it was too late now. Charles and his blasted hypocritical cowardice had seen to that. 

But until then, Erik was too preoccupied with handling his mother’s legacy while Magda planned the wedding. They didn’t want a huge ceremony per se but for some reason they ended up inviting all relatives, distant or not, and almost all of their colleagues as well. The wedding had blown out of proportion way too quickly, and even if Erik had _wanted_ to bail out on it due to cold feet, he wouldn’t have done it for the mere eternal shame that would overcome him each time he’d have to face aforementioned relatives or colleagues again.

At least those few weeks till his wedding kept him busy enough not to think about Charles. He certainly did _not_ think of him first when Magda asked him who his best man would be.

“A friend from college,” he had said instead and Magda left it at that.

The thing was, in any other universe, there would have been no question about it. Of course Charles would have been best man. But in their situation, with Erik's unresolved feelings for Charles still such a tangle between them, it just wasn't feasible. Erik didn't think he could stand and swear eternal devotion to Magda while Charles was there on his other side. 

Sebastian was the second obvious choice. He and Erik had been in touch since their nebulous break up, and Magda knew him as a friend of Erik's -- without, of course, knowing anything about the specifics of their relationship. When Erik managed to find the gumption to email Sebastian, he got back immediately, full of enthusiasm. If nothing else, Erik would have a fantastic best man speech, leaving nobody in any doubt about his love for Magda. 

Sebastian arrived in town a week before the wedding, with two other college 'friends' in tow, insistent that Erik couldn't possibly get married without a meticulously planned bachelor party. Erik was reluctant, but Sebastian insisted. "Honestly, Erik," he'd said, wrapping an arm around Erik's shoulders, "haven't you ever heard of a last hurrah?" 

A bachelor party, once again, was one of those things Erik would have invited Charles to like a shot if the situation had been different. As it was, when it finally came to it, he was more and more relieved as the evening wore on that Charles wasn't here for this. Magda had kissed Erik's cheek and told him, in good faith, to have a good time, but he very much doubted she had any idea what a Sebastian Shaw bachelor party entailed. Erik had had a good enough idea, and his fears were borne out when Sebastian led them into a gay club. It was the sort of place that had go-go boys dancing in cages, where you were expected to tuck ten dollar bills into the waistband of guys' underwear. Erik looked around dubiously. Sebastian looked entirely delighted with himself. 

"I just thought," he said, leaning in to murmur in Erik's ear, "what better stag party for a bisexual man who's marrying a woman? Time to say goodbye to all this, Erik, my dear." 

God, but it was seedy. The whole club was thumping with the beat of the music, the floors sticky with weeks of spilled alcohol. The walls were practically sweating. And yet, to his shame, Erik found himself watching the dancers gyrating in their cages, the strobe lights glancing off the taut muscle of their stomachs. Sebastian was right: this was his last opportunity to look at men this way, to appreciate the way they moved, their smell, the broadness of their shoulders and the narrow nip of their waists. A week from now, he'd have dedicated himself to Magda in all her feminine softness. 

_What am I doing?_ he thought, a brief moment of despair. 

Then the image of Charles's face flitted across his mind, and he remembered. It wasn't _men_ he missed, not really. It was Charles, and Charles he couldn't have. Marrying Magda was the only logical thing to do. 

As if on cue, as if Charles was mentally connected to Erik, his phone buzzed once, twice in his pocket, giving him the signal that he had received a text message. As he opened it, he half expected Magda telling him to have a good time once more or tell him about how her own bachelorette party with her friends was going. The number, however, was unknown.

_Hope you’re having fun at your party?_

_Charles_

Erik looked around, frowning deeply, then stared back down at the phone in his hands.

_How did you get my number?_

Charles replied a few minutes later.

_Magda gave it to me, bless her._

The mere thought of Charles and Magda talking with each other while he wasn’t around unnerved him. What if Charles had hinted at their past and whatever they were to each other? Panic was starting to well up in him.

_What do you want Charles?_

_Not much, Erik. Just want to make sure you’ll be happy. Can’t miss your wedding, can I?_

How did he do this? How did this bastard manage to rile him up instantly with just a couple of words? He could feel his pulse hammering away, how his anger throbbed thickly in his temples and rushed through his veins as he replied: _Of course not. And my bachelor party’s going fine. Sebastian took me out, you remember him?_

There came a pause, and Erik mentally congratulated himself on having found Charles's weak spot. He'd always been jealous of Sebastian, even if he'd never let himself admit it aloud. 

"Oh, Erik, what's this? Are you being a wallflower again? Contrary to popular opinion, it really has no perks." Sebastian's hand came down on Erik's shoulder. "I got you something." 

A boy. Of course. Erik wasn't sure quite what Sebastian's game was, here -- to convince him that marrying a woman was a bad idea after all, or simply to get all the gayness out of Erik's system, or what. But all the same, he wasn't sure how he felt when the dancer stepped forward, smiling at him with practised coyness, and straddled Erik's lap. 

Erik could feel his face flushing, his hands awkward at his sides. The boy was grinning as he moved, rolling his hips, and only the sound of Sebastian and the others catcalling and laughing kept Erik's treacherous dick from getting hard. Yes, he liked men, that wasn't news to him. But it was far too late and too stupid to back out now, just because of that. 

When, after several excruciating minutes, the dancer bowed out and left Erik with a kiss and a serious case of the blushes, he finally had a chance to look at his phone again. 

_Wish I was there with you_ , Charles said. _I'd give you a night you would never forget._

For a long moment, longer than he probably even thought, Erik stared at the screen, reading the message over and over again. In his mind, Charles’s voice was so clear, so crystal clear and Erik wondered why the other man was taunting him like this. Why did he have to come back into his life just when Erik had settled down comfortably?

Shaking his head, Erik deleted the messages and put his phone away. As he looked up, Sebastian met his eyes. He raised his eyebrows questioningly; Erik somehow managed a weak smile. Five minutes later, Sebastian had ordered a round of shots for the entire party society, plus extra drinks for Erik.

At that moment, he had never been more grateful to have at least someone left who didn’t act like a complete jerk over this wedding. Or so he thought. 

An hour later, Erik was high on the effects of several rounds of shots, grinning blearily at everything. Sebastian's arm was around his shoulders, and Erik felt pleasantly happy with life, the universe, and everything. 

That was, until Sebastian turned his face and nuzzled at Erik's jaw, his movements slow with drink and his lips parting softly against Erik's skin. 

"Seb..." Drunk though he was, Erik felt seriously uncomfortable. He pulled away, looking at the other man with accusation in his eyes. "What are you doing?" 

"Oh, come now, dear boy." Sebastian leaned in again, bold now, aiming for Erik's mouth. "What did I say about last hurrahs?" 

Erik felt his stomach dip fearfully. He felt betrayed. "I'm getting _married_ tomorrow!" 

Sebastian shrugged, unrepentant. "All the more reason to have a last go at what you really like, hmm?" 

Erik was on his feet before he even knew it. "How dare you!" If he'd had a drink left, he'd have thrown it in Sebastian's face. As it was, he could only draw up all his drunken dignity. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume this is the vodka talking. And now I think I should go home and get a decent amount of sleep, so I can be presentable tomorrow for my wife." 

So saying, Erik turned on his heel and stumbled for the door with as much composure as he could muster.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, Erik woke up to a text message from Sebastian, seemingly profoundly apologetic about what happened the previous evening. Erik hoped he had a terrible hangover, despite him being his best man for the wedding. He wasn’t given much time to mull over Shaw’s advances from last night. Their relatives stormed into their house at the early hours in the morning to prepare everything. Magda’s female relatives as well as some of Erik’s aunts ushered him out of the bedroom to help Magda get dressed for the wedding, while Erik himself had to get changed in the room he used as his office whenever he worked at home. The few male relatives he had were sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and wishing Erik good luck on his big day as he entered the room once he was dressed appropriately.

There was a brief moment of panic when it dawned on Erik that things were getting serious, when he was on his way to the synagogue. People shook hands with him, others patted his back and wished him good luck, while he looked around and waited for the ceremony to start. Magda would arrive a little later, and the longer Erik had to wait for her, the more he wished he could just back out of this and run out of the building. It didn’t help in the slightest that Charles was sitting in the third row, looking at him expectantly, quietly daring him to go through with this as if he didn’t believe for a moment that Erik would pull this off. Erik hated him for this, and for looking so sharp on this day.

The canopy was erected, ready for them, and Erik took a deep breath as he was led beneath it. When Magda arrived -- smiling at him as she moved to encircle her groom, as was tradition -- Erik genuinely caught his breath. She was beautiful, and Erik took a deep pride in being able to focus his attention on her as the ceremony progressed, with little thought of Charles for once. After the ring had been presented, Sebastian laid down the glass by Erik's foot, and Erik smiled at him, all forgiven, as he crushed it beneath his heel. 

"Mazel tov!" 

The congregation echoed the blessing, and Erik's smile was genuine as he led Magda out of the synagogue for the dancing and the food. Magda, his wife. The thought of it still seemed unbelievable, but at least he hadn't let Charles spoil this for him, for Edie. If Charles had thought this wouldn't happen, he'd been proven wrong. 

"Oh, Erik," Magda whispered, gripping his arm, "can you believe it?" 

Charles's eyes were on them, Erik could feel. He smiled and kissed her. 

"Believe it," he told her.

The wedding party itself was located at a relatively fancy restaurant close to the synagogue. Erik didn’t think it would have been possible to fill such a large venue, but soon enough the entire place was buzzing with laughter and the bustle of people walking around between the tables, looking for their seats. Once the traditional dances were over as well as all four courses of the meal, the dance floor was flooded with people, old and young, and for a while, Erik genuinely enjoyed himself. He watched Magda laugh as one of her friends told her some story, and he found himself smiling as well. The next song came on, and he left the small group of people he had been talking to in order to ask his wife for a dance.

10CC’s _I’m Not In Love_ had been a very popular song to slow dance to back in its day when it came out and this fact still hadn’t changed over the years. They were embracing each other, not even trying to pretend that the little bit of swaying they were doing was supposed to be dancing while Magda pressed her cheek against Erik’s shoulder and Erik nestled his chin into the soft curve of Magda’s neck. This moment would have been perfect, both of them in a snug embrace dancing to some old cheesy pop song, if Erik hadn’t made the mistake of opening his eyes after a while. His stomach dropped when Charles caught his eye.

He meant to look away, honestly. But the expression on Charles's face was one of such disbelief, such betrayal, Erik could not break eye contact. In his arms, Magda was beautifully content, the soft weight of her comforting and sweet smelling and warm. But Charles..his blue eyes were haunted, wet at the corners, as if he honestly hadn't believed this wedding would happen. And Erik, much as he was glad not to have caved in to Charles's veiled objections; much as he felt Charles no longer had any right at all to comment on Erik's life choices -- still, a tiny part of him felt guilty, wondered _what if_. 

For the rest of the evening, he avoided Charles assiduously. He and Magda would be living in Edie's house, left to Erik in her will, and Erik had readied the master bedroom for his new bride. Their wedding night was sweet, slow. Magda clung to him and kissed him and surrendered herself to him, the perfect wife. It wasn't a bad experience. Erik even managed not to feel any doubt until after he had come. 

If he lay awake afterwards, wondering how it would have been if he'd married Charles instead...well. Magda would never know.

Another thing Magda would never know about was a phone call Erik received at half past four in the morning.

*

Erik had always been a bit of an early bird. A couple of hours of sleep were enough for him to get through the day. Ever since his teenage years, he liked to take a morning run if he could manage to fit it in, and so he usually liked to get up around five AM when other people were still sound asleep. The day after his wedding was no exception. He and Magda wouldn’t go on honeymoon until a week later since both had a busy time at work. The only curious thing about this particular morning, foggy and clammy as it was as the sun slowly rose, was that Erik woke up around four AM and wasn’t able to get back to sleep. Magda made a small noise of discomfort as Erik kissed her cheek before he rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom.

By the time it was half past four, Erik was dressed in his running clothes and had drained his cup of coffee, ready to go out. And then his mobile phone on the kitchen counter rang.

It was startling and slightly alien to hear his ringtone at such an unexpected hour, in the quiet of the early morning when the only thing Erik could usually hear was the occasional bird outside.

Charles’s name lit up the screen.

“Hello…?” he asked as he answered the phone. There wasn’t an immediate response -- Erik could hear the faint sound of breathing at the other end of the line, shuddering and slightly wet. He was about to ask again, when suddenly Charles’s croaked voice cut through the silence.

“It should’ve been me.”

“Charles? What --”

“It should have been me,” he repeated and cleared his throat. “Me. Today. Or rather yesterday.”

Erik frowned, gripped his phone a little tighter. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I still don’t get what you mean or why you’re calling me at this time of the day.”

“Marrying you, Erik. I should have been the one.” If Erik had ever before been rendered speechless, it was nothing compared to what was happening right at the moment. It felt as if his vocal cords were caught in a vice that tightened as Charles went on: “It shouldn’t have been Magda or bloody Sebastian or anybody else for that matter.”

Erik swallowed hard. He had known what Charles was trying to say, of course, but hearing it spelled out was very different. "That isn't what you thought five years ago," he said carefully. "You aren't gay, remember? It 'isn't you'. So how on earth could you have publicly married me?" 

A hesitation on the other end of the line, and then Charles said, "I was stupid then, Erik. I was too young and too stupid to know what I had, but now..."

Irritation lanced through Erik like a knife. "But now, nothing, Charles! Now, I'm married. Magda and I are about to start our life together. You had your chance and you gave it up." He breathed out heavily. "You have to let it go." 

"I can't." Charles's voice was dark, rasping. Urgent. Erik didn't know whether to shrink in despair or flush in anticipation at the urgency in it. "Erik, this isn't what you want." 

"You're being deliberately obtuse," Erik said, voice breaking. "You left me -- you made it clear you wouldn't be with me -- you don't get to show up now and try and fuck up my life. Stop calling, Charles." Erik pulled away, looked at the phone in his hand,and then hung up pointedly. If Charles thought he still had any hold over Erik, he had another think coming. 

He didn’t hear from Charles again until two days before his honeymoon. This time, Charles didn’t call him but sent him a text message in which he apologised to Erik.

_I’m sorry for what I said during my last call. I’m not taking it back -- too late for that, I suppose -- but I’d be happy to meet up with you at my uni for a coffee sometime. Just to catch up as friends, don’t worry._

Well, that came as a surprise. He texted back, telling Charles that they could meet up once he was back from his trip across Europe. Charles simply asked _Honeymoon?_ , and when Erik gave an affirmative reply there was a small pause before Charles finally texted back _Have fun and talk when you’re back._

It sounded genuine enough, and while Erik did take his mobile phone with him on his trip with Magda, while he _was_ tempted to continue texting Charles for the next two weeks despite being overseas on holiday, he didn’t act upon his urges.

Charles could wait.

Charles let him wait for over five years to tell him that he wanted him, after all.


	9. Chapter 9

When they finally managed to arrange a meeting -- Erik could spare some hours off work, since it was a little less busy than usual -- there was a faint sense of nervousness running through Erik’s entire system. He hadn’t seen Charles since the wedding, the memory of Charles’s face as he and Magda had danced still fresh in his memory, and he hadn’t talked to him personally ever since the phone call the next morning either. Just occasional text messages had been swapped as to where and when to meet up.

Charles had told him they could meet up after his lecture around noon and that Erik was welcome to join the last few minutes of his lecture so he wouldn’t have to wait outside awkwardly.

Finding the Biology department wasn’t as difficult as he had thought at first. Charles had given him clear instructions and once he was standing outside the classroom, his hand hovering above the doorknob, Erik contemplated for a second the idea that, perhaps, he should turn around and leave again. But then the familiar sound of Charles’s voice wafted through the air, muffled by the door, and Erik felt an instinctive pull towards it. Yes, he was still infinitely pissed off at Charles for having done this to him, but if he was being honest with himself, he had missed him even more. All those years without a word between them, all the time without his friendship had seemed colder to Erik, as though someone had muted his life. Charles still had that inexplicable magic about him that tuned Erik’s life to full Technicolor in an instant.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked at the door, and a second later heard Charles's voice: “Come in!” Not without a sense of trepidation, Erik opened the door.

At least sixty pairs of curious eyes were trained on him and Erik felt as though this had been a bad decision, because the last thing he wanted was to draw that much attention to himself when, really, his intention was only to steal a quick chat with Charles over coffee after this lecture. His doubts and fears were quickly dissolved, though, when Charles came walking over to him, smiling amiably as he greeted him.

“Erik! I’m so glad you could come!” He gave Erik's shoulder a squeeze before he turned towards his students. “Everyone, this is my old friend Erik Lehnsherr. He’ll be an honorary student for the rest of the lecture, so if you could please find him a seat, I’d be very grateful.”

Some students raised their arms to signal that there was a spot left next to them, and Charles nodded encouragingly at Erik to go and sit down as he urged him gently towards the seats. Erik obliged and, once he had sat down, he finally had an opportunity to properly take in the situation.

The room was spacious, and it seemed as though almost every seat in Charles’s lecture had been taken except for a very few here and there. The blackboard behind Charles was scribbled all over with his incorrigibly sprawling handwriting, covered in graphics and illustrations, and as Erik looked around to observe the students around him, he noticed that all of them were intently listening. Erik still remembered his own time at college, how he sometimes wished the lectures had been over sooner rather than later and how, often enough, he had been bored out of his mind because the professors were so dull. If he had had a teacher like Charles, he certainly wouldn’t have focused so much on doodling all over his notes.

Watching Charles here in this entirely different environment was fascinating. He was in his element, Erik could tell as much from the way Charles talked animatedly about genetics, used his arms and hands for talking while he wandered up and down the room and made sure his students were involved in discussions. This Charles was no longer the scared little boy he'd been all those years ago in Oxford. This Charles was a man, competent and capable and clearly in love with his job. Despite himself, Erik found himself being drawn in to the topic as Charles explained it, although he'd never been especially interested in biology. The students, too, looked rapt, and when at last the bell rang, there wasn't the sort of frantic rush to pack up books and laptops that Erik would have expected. It actually seemed as if they didn't particularly want to leave, presumably for their next classes with far less charming and enthusiastic teachers. 

It had been so long since Erik had been in Charles's company that he'd forgotten just how much he _liked_ him. They may have had a twisted and complicated history, but above and beyond all that, they were best friends. They always had been. Erik felt something settle warmly in his chest as Charles turned towards him and smiled, opening his briefcase to pack away his teaching materials. 

"I'll be with you in a moment," he said, and Erik smiled back. 

"No hurry. I enjoyed your lecture." 

"Did you really?" Charles's face broke out in a genuine grin. "I'm glad, this one is one of my favourites. The students seem to like it, too." 

"They seem to like _you_ ," Erik said, honestly. "You're a good teacher. I suspected you would be." 

"You know me very well, my friend," Charles said. For a moment, there was something sad in his face, and Erik couldn't help but remember what he'd known about Charles all those years ago -- something that Charles was only just now admitting to himself, too late. But then Charles smiled again, and he gestured towards the door. "Shall we?" 

The little coffee shop on campus was pretty much what you'd expect from a university cafe -- a sort of hippyish alternative to Starbucks, filled with flyers advertising music gigs and serious-looking students with dreadlocks. Charles, in his cardigan and chinos, looked simultaneously out of place and perfectly suited to the environment, a study in unaffected eccentricity. Erik felt a wash of fondness sweep over him as they found a free table. 

"This place does amazing mochas," Charles said, "if you've still got that awful sweet tooth." 

Erik laughed, and benevolently let Charles order. 

He'd worried that this would be awkward, the way the meeting with Magda before the wedding had been awkward, but soon enough, Erik's doubts slipped away. Things were settled, now; he was married, it was over and done. Charles had accepted his feelings, but that was all in the past now. There was no reason they couldn't move forward into a different stage of their friendship. The familiar cadences of Charles's voice, his awful jokes, the way he giggled like a schoolgirl when something really tickled him, it was all delightful to Erik, like water after a long drought. They talked about Charles's classes, about his new apartment, about Erik's honeymoon with Magda and how Erik had managed to get sunburn right across the backs of his shoulders. Before Erik knew it, they'd been there two hours, and Charles jerked suddenly, looking at his watch with a consternated expression on his face. 

"Oh, shit. I have to go to a lecture." He sighed, and then laughed softly. "I really don't want to go. Thank you for this, Erik." 

"No," Erik said hastily, "you were right -- this was lovely." He hesitated, and then said, "I missed you, Charles." 

"Oh, my friend." Charles reached across the table and squeezed Erik's hand. "I've missed you too." 

They smiled at each other until sudden embarrassment got the better of Erik although he wasn’t exactly sure why. He let out a small cough as he tried to cover up his momentarily flustered state and was grateful when the waitress, seeing Charles stand up, arrived to take their empty cups. On impulse, as they stood outside the coffee shop, Erik pulled Charles into a hug. The solid warmth of him was at once familiar and new in Erik's arms, Charles's body a little firmer, a little more adult. Before Erik could let himself think on that too much, he stepped back. 

"I'll let you get to your lecture," he said, "but we must do this again soon. Call me, okay?" 

Charles's smile was blinding. "Of course." 

Erik left the campus feeling like a new man. 

*

“Did you get the new project at work?” Magda asked from the kitchen, preparing dinner for the two of them, while Erik cleaned up his office next to the kitchen.

“I don’t know yet,” he replied distractedly, flicking through a stack of papers before he put them away in a drawer. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s just you seem so content recently. Happier than usual,” she replied and fell silent. Obviously, she was expecting him to elaborate further.

And this was the problem. Erik didn’t know how exactly he could tell Magda, his wife, that Charles was the exact reason why his mood had been less foul recently. After their first meeting, they had met up just the week later, both spending their lunch time together, and another time, he and Charles had hung out together at an Irish pub after work. Erik had told Magda he had to run some errands.

“It’s nothing, really,” he eventually replied as he tried to sort out his thoughts. “I just… Charles and I have had more contact again.” There. That was truthful enough. He hated keeping secrets from other people. Nothing had happened between them except for brief friendly hugs.

Magda came into his room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel and smiling broadly at him. “I’m so glad to hear that, love. It seemed a little odd to me that you and Charlie didn’t keep in touch as much as you used to. I mean, you two were inseparable in high school. I’m happy for you.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” she nodded and walked over to him. Standing on her toes, she put her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Anything that makes _you_ happy, makes _me_ happy in return.”

God, that did make Erik feel guilty. On the one hand, he told himself he had nothing to be ashamed of. But on the other, why hadn't he told Magda the truth about his assignations with Charles, unless because he felt he was doing something wrong? Magda was his wife. He should be taking his emotional sustenance from her, not from Charles. 

But she knew, now, and she said she was happy about it... Maybe Magda was just a better person than Erik. Maybe it was fine. And if Erik preferred to keep his life with Magda quite separate from his meetings with Charles, well, that was all right. Married couples could have other friends, after all. 

It was fine. 

Slowly, Erik's lunches and coffees and evenings with Charles went from a couple of times a week to an almost daily affair. It was as if, after years of being deprived of each other, they couldn't get enough now that there was opportunity again. Everything about Charles made Erik feel new again, the way he laughed, the way he talked with his hands, the way he and Erik always found the same stupid things hilarious. It was like a second chance, and as long as it was only talking, Erik could convince himself he was doing nothing wrong. They never went to Charles's apartment, never lingered alone in Charles's office. There were always other people around, and if Erik knew one thing, it was that Charles wasn't going to try anything as long as their meetings all took place in public. That had been why their roads diverged in the first place, all those years ago. 

The first time was an accident. Erik didn't think even Charles had expected it until after it happened. They were on a bench together in the campus grounds, coffee cups warm in their hands, knees pressed snugly together. Erik had just made some remark about the coffee, and when he turned his face on a laugh, Charles was watching him, his expression dreamy, blue eyes soft. Erik opened his mouth, and the next thing he knew, Charles's lips were on his, cool and a little chapped and wholly unexpected. 

It was brief. Charles pulled away almost immediately, looking as shocked as Erik felt. "Um...I -- I'm sorry. Please forget I did that. I didn't mean to." 

He looked down at his hands, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and Erik wanted to be horrified, or to laugh it off as nothing but a mistake. But somehow, as they sat in silence and watched the gaggles of students passing the bench and paying them no attention, all Erik could think was: why couldn't he have done that five years ago, when it wouldn't have been too late? 

The second time it happened, Erik wasn’t even sure how he managed to face Magda afterwards, let alone fuck her until they both were exhausted but satisfied.

He had warned Magda beforehand that perhaps he’d be home late, since Charles had invited him to their now-favourite pub to celebrate his recently published article in one of the most prestigious journals for geneticists. She had shrugged it off with an _Okay_ and an _I wanted to have a lazy girls’ evening with Betty anyway_. Betty was Magda’s best friend ever since high school, though Erik highly doubted she was the same to Magda as was Charles to Erik.

They did have a great time at the pub. Charles even accepted the challenge from a group of college kids to drink five shots of tequila without flinching and within fifteen seconds, but afterwards he looked as though he regretted it, albeit he was too proud to admit it. Erik gave him a sympathetic smile while he sipped from his beer and Charles groaned as he willed away the urge to vomit right onto the floor. Once that feeling had passed, they continued to have a great time. They didn’t leave the pub until well after midnight, both of them comfortably drunk.

Erik ordered a taxi for them both to share, while Charles leaned against him, giggling into Erik’s shoulder over some stupid joke he had just remembered. Somehow, Erik manoeuvred Charles into the car without further injuries, and once they were both seated comfortably in the back seat, he noticed how tired he was. Tired but happy. Truth be told, he hadn’t felt this good for a long time.

Charles was back in his life and it felt as though a part of himself had returned, as if something had been missing, like a limb, and he hadn’t been fully aware of how insipid his life had been without his best friend by his side. Erik turned his head to look at Charles, who was now leaning against him with his head resting on Erik’s shoulder.

“Oh, Erik,” Charles sighed against him and patted his leg before his hand rested upon Erik’s, linking their fingers. “I’m so glad I’ve got you back. I’m going to be so hungover tomorrow, but right now I’m glad you’re here.”

Sober, Erik would probably have heard alarm bells at this point. But Erik wasn't sober, hadn't been sober for several hours, and the sleepy warmth of Charles against his side was so deliciously good. He could feel Charles's breath against his neck, the firm weight of Charles's hand over his own, and he couldn't remember why he shouldn't let himself enjoy these things. Turning his hand under Charles's, Erik squeezed in acknowledgement, let his cheek rest against the top of Charles's head. 

They'd been in the taxi five minutes, Erik basking in the reassuring feeling of Charles resting against him, when Charles began, for want of a better word, nuzzling him. It was slight at first, almost undetectable, tiny motions of Charles's head that rubbed his nose against the curve of Erik's neck. Then Charles sighed, shifting further towards Erik, and Erik felt all the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up, heat prickling down his spine. Dimly, he was aware that this was bad, but every nerve in his body pulsed with _good good good good_ , and he could feel his cock, inches away from Charles's hand, beginning to take an interest in the proceedings. His hand came up to palm the back of Charles's head, stroking through the soft hair there, and Charles whimpered softly under his breath. "Erik…" 

He lifted his head, the yellow light from the headlights of passing cars glittering in his huge eyes, and Erik was gone. Charles lifted his chin, and Erik let his eyes fall closed, lulled by the motion of the car and the blanket of the darkness; pressed his mouth to Charles's. 

It was a slow kiss, this time, their drunkenness making it at once messy and gloriously, horrifically easy. Charles tasted of whisky, tongue rubbing lazily over Erik's, curving up to trace the ridges of his soft palate, and Erik shivered, clutched at him. It wasn't a question of _letting_ Charles do anything. The way Charles kissed, the soft give of his lips under Erik's -- it was all so intoxicatingly familiar, Erik couldn't help but kiss back, never wanted to stop kissing. It wasn't until the car jolted over a speed bump that they broke apart, panting against each other's mouths. 

Charles didn't apologise this time. Erik didn't want him to. His mind was a confused jumble, and his whole body thrummed with arousal. When the car stopped at Charles's flat, Charles got out without a word, squeezing Erik's hand before he tripped out and fumbled his way to the door. Erik let his head fall back against the seat, and took a deep breath. 

Shit. _Shit_. 

When he got home, Magda was already in bed. Erik stripped off his clothes with reckless abandon, slid under the covers and curved himself around her from behind. Part of him wished he could feel bad about this, but not enough to stop him rubbing himself against her ass, kissing her neck until she woke up, laughing, and pulled his hand around her waist to direct it between her legs where she wanted it. Erik fucked her like that, from behind in the dark, panting into the curve of her throat, and when she came around him she groaned his name into the pillow, and behind her, Erik closed his eyes and thought _Charles -- Charles -- Charles --_

He ought to stop seeing Charles, he told himself later, when Magda was asleep with her head pillowed on his chest. He ought to. 

And yet, somehow, he knew that he couldn't.

There were a third and a fourth time. During each one of them Charles was a little bolder, a little more open. He greeted Erik with a peck the next time they met and Erik… Erik let it happen. There was nothing wrong with a friendly peck between childhood friends, was there? Even if they tended to linger a little longer each time, lips brushing against another lightly as an afterthought. Maybe there were also friendly goodbye pecks every time they parted, and _perhaps_ the tenth time they kissed was maddening because they were alone in Charles’s flat, looking through some old photo albums and their yearbook from high school. Erik blamed the magic of memories, their adventures together through all those years that made both him and Charles so sentimental about everything. The only solution to this was obviously kissing Charles’s cherry red lips after he had laughed about Erik’s photo in the yearbook along with an “Oh, look at you with your little face!”

Erik didn’t realise he had leaned forward and cupped Charles’s face with one hand until he felt Charles's mouth opening under his. Erik’s name ghosted across Charles’s lips, confused and marvelling at the same time, while he tentatively placed a hand upon Erik’s hip.

Erik shivered faintly, his whole body thrilling to that touch. The weight of Charles's hand was familiar, and when their mouths met, Erik felt Charles's aching exhalation. It was wrong, wrong: the knowledge of it pounded in his chest as the kiss slipped deeper, right until the moment when Charles's tongue traced the length of Erik's and they groaned, clutched each other harder; shifted all at once until Erik was pressing Charles against the back of the seat, kissing him hard and urgent and long overdue. 

Maybe, even after that, they could have come back from it. Maybe they could have written it off as a drunken mistake, despite the lack of alcohol. But Charles was trembling under Erik, clutching at him, and when Erik's mouth dipped to kiss at his throat, Charles's voice was weak but distinct as he breathed, "Erik -- God, Erik, I love you so much." 

One heartbeat later, Erik’s mouth went slack against Charles’s skin. He felt as though someone had just pulled the rug from underneath his feet, too perplexed to say much else other than, “What?”

He stared at Charles in search of a hint, however subtle, that the other man was taking the piss out of him but Charles -- Charles looked so earnest, so open and vulnerable, wearing his heart on his sleeve for once as he repeated again, “I said I’m in love with you, you daft idiot.” He was smiling tentatively, afraid that Erik might perhaps recoil and reject him now the way Charles had rejected Erik so many years ago.

Erik, however, was still in stupor.

“Erik?” Charles prompted, cupping Erik’s cheek, his eyes suddenly filled with worry.

“Why now?” Erik eventually choked out. “Why _now_ , Charles? After all those years, I don’t understand…”

Charles had the decency to look away demurely as he reached for Erik’s hand, tracing the lines on its palm as he spoke slowly. “I know it’s...late. But I’ve had some serious issues to work out, believe me.”

Erik snorted at that. Charles gave a weak smile. “I’ve loved you for so long, and when I was finally able to admit it to myself, we weren’t talking anymore. Not really, anyway.”

Turning his hand within Charles’s hold, Erik lifted Charles’s hand up to press a kiss to his palm. Charles sighed and went on shakily.

“I didn’t know you were...that you were with Magda when I received the letter about Edie’s funeral. I had -- I had hoped that, you know --”

“You thought I was single.”

“I had _hoped_ so, yes.” Charles looked properly embarrassed and ashamed of himself, though he didn’t quite manage to keep the sadness from his smile. “I thought this was some fated second chance, since we hadn’t talked to each other for more than five years, and suddenly I heard from you again, and…” He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

“Why didn’t you contact me earlier?”

“Well, I thought you hated me. Rightly so, I may add. I didn’t treat you well or the way you deserved.”

"No," Erik said, "you didn't." Then, at the look on Charles's face, he softened. "But you were young. It takes some people longer than others to...accept themselves. If you've managed it now, I'm glad." 

Charles was smiling, but his huge blue eyes were wet. "You always knew yourself better than I could. I just...I didn't want to disappoint my mother any more than I already had, you know?" 

Erik felt his chest well with sympathy. He reached for Charles's hand, squeezed it hard. "Charles...if you've got beyond that, I'm glad for you. I hope you can move on now to someone you really want to be with." 

Charles stiffened. Erik had expected it, but it still made his chest pound. 

"Erik," Charles said, after a long moment, "I know already who I want to be with." A hesitation, and then, "I just told you." 

Erik sighed heavily. A large part of him wanted to pull Charles into his arms, but then there was the part that thought of Magda in his bed, Magda who had never hurt him, and... "Charles...I'm married. You know that."

“Oh, yes, _that_ I know,” Charles laughed, unhappy. He blinked quickly, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m sorry that I told you this at all, Erik. I...didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” He looked down, frowning. “I just thought you _at least_ deserved to know that your feelings for me in the past weren’t unrequited, since I hurt you a lot back then. I just didn’t know any better.”

Neither of them moved. Charles still kept his gaze trained on his lap while Erik watched his face for any sort of reaction. His heart weighed heavily in his chest; the mutual heartache between them seemed almost palpable. He had never seen Charles so full of misery before -- except for their last evening together back at Oxford when they had had their fight. But now things were different. Now Erik knew that Charles loved him as well, five years ago and even still.

“This isn’t fair,” Charles muttered after a while, his hand reaching out to take Erik’s and lacing their fingers. Erik hummed in reply. He loved Magda, he really did, but if Charles had come back earlier, things might have been different now. He’d have chosen him over Magda, over _anybody_ anytime.

Charles inhaled shakily and gave Erik’s hands a squeeze. “Just tell me -- do you...are your feelings still the same? For me?”

Erik hesitated. His chest was pounding with the urge to tell Charles that, God, all the years they'd been apart, Erik had thought of nothing other than him. Erik had spent long nights wishing Charles would reconsider, would recognise the error of his ways, would come back to him. Of course, Erik's feelings had never changed. Of course Erik still loved Charles, heart and soul. 

But then he remembered where they were, now; how much older they were. They weren't those reckless teenage boys any more. They were reaching the age where they had to be responsible human beings, and Erik had just got married. Hell, his _mother_ had just died, happy at least in the knowledge that her son was settled with the sort of girl she'd always wanted him to be with. 

Erik sighed. "Charles...I've always loved you. You must know that." 

Charles's eyes brightened, and Erik immediately felt like an asshole. 

"But...you left me. You didn't want me, at least not publicly. You were ashamed of me. Back then, God, I would have kissed you stupid in the public square, Charles; I wanted everyone to know that I was the only one allowed to touch you. But you made me feel like I was something to be ashamed of, and -- and Magda didn't." Erik's eyes were trained on his hands. "She's always loved me, Charles." 

For a long moment, Charles only stared at him. Then he said, "Erik -- I know I might not always have showed it that way I wanted to. But, believe me, I've always loved you, too. And you love me still, don't you?" 

Erik closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter." 

"But it does." Charles squeezed his hand. "I know we fucked everything up, Erik, but we're young, still. We can put it right." 

"No," Erik said, soft but firm. "Charles, no." 

For at least three days, he managed to convince himself he meant it. Even on the fourth day, he was unwavering in his conviction, right until the moment when Charles Xavier ended up in his bed.


	10. Chapter 10

The memory of how he and Charles had landed in his bed in the first place was blurry. Charles had come over just for a chat and perhaps a game of chess. Magda had gone out for the weekend, visiting her parents because they asked her to help them with chores at home and hadn’t wanted Erik around to grumble about old people and their weird antics. She had said it was okay if Charles came over and they’d have a _men’s weekend_.

Erik felt a pang of guilt when Charles straddled his lap on his mother’s old couch after an evening of almost unbearable tension between them. Kissing Charles, though, here in the living room of his childhood home where he and Charles had spent so many hours, sneaking around and playing games, where they had to be careful not to get caught practising kissing by Edie, was simply delicious. Charles made contented noises, pressing himself against Erik while his hands stroked Erik’s shoulders and neck, and Erik couldn’t find it in himself to push Charles off just yet. Neither did he protest much when Charles tugged at his collar, shoving it aside, and then latched onto his neck, kissing and nipping at it gently while Erik’s head lolled back, offering himself to the other man.

Somewhere between Charles tonguing at his earlobe and tugging Erik's shirt out of his trousers, Erik's mind switched off. He was on autopilot, dizzy with the familiar scent of Charles's skin all over him, Charles's generous mouth on his throat. Somehow or other, they ended up shirtless, the taut peaks of Charles's nipples dragging deliciously against Erik's chest as they rocked together, and Erik had gone far past the point of being able to recognise this as a bad idea, much less stop it. For years, he'd dreamed of this, yearned to have it again, Charles in his arms and Charles's mouth on his, and now he was powerless to stop it. Maybe he was weak, but Charles had always been a superhuman force, irresistible. All Erik could do was hang on and try not to be swept away by him.

When Charles dismounted, Erik felt suddenly cold, but a moment later Charles's hand found his, and then they were moving together, as if by mutual agreement, back to the room that had been Erik's when he was a boy in this house. Not the room he shared with Magda, but the room he and Charles had first discovered each other in, the narrow little bed and the unchanged wallpaper and the debris of their shared childhood enveloping them. Wordless, Charles's hands went to his waistband, unbuttoning, and Erik fumbled to keep up, shucking shoes and jeans until they were naked and breathless, staring at each other in the dim light.

"Erik," Charles said, his voice the barest whisper, and held out his arms.

Erik had borne him down onto the bed before he knew what he was doing.

Beneath him, Charles groaned, arched his back, and Erik's eyes closed as he slotted himself into the warm space between Charles's pale thighs, felt Charles's legs lock around his waist.

It had been so long, so long since the last time he had felt Charles’s bare skin against his, and it was like coming home. He and Charles still worked perfectly together, moving and gripping at each other just the way they knew each one of them needed it, biting and sucking at each other’s throats, rutting against one another in the quiet of the night. Charles felt strong underneath him. Gone was the puppy fat and Erik secretly marvelled at how well-defined Charles’s body had become even though one could rather feel than see it.

And yet, for a brief moment, Erik wondered if there had been others. Not other people in general -- Erik knew that Charles wasn’t someone to turn down a woman but…

“Have you had others?” he breathed out against Charles’s bared throat, nipping at it and drawing a soft moan from the other.

“Other what?” Charles asked absentmindedly. He dug his heels into the back of Erik’s thighs while he thrust up against him.

“Men,” Erik groaned, nuzzling at the soft skin behind Charles’s ear before he withdrew to look down at him. “Have you had other men?”

Charles went still beneath him.

“Oh, Erik.” He reached up to gently cup Erik’s cheeks, and traced his thumb along his cheekbone. “If I hadn’t managed to be open about you in public, do you really think I could have managed to be with some stranger?”

Relief flooded Erik and brought with it a renewed wave of lust, of possessiveness, the urge to take Charles and claim him and wrap himself in the fact that Charles still belonged only to him. The fact that Erik was no longer free to belong to _Charles_ was lost in the feeling.

"Good," Erik said roughly, eyes mapping Charles's face, tracking the changes there. "I couldn't have stood that, Charles, I --"

"Sshhhh." Charles laid a finger on Erik's lips. His eyes were soft and newly wise. "Don't talk. Kiss me." Charles's fingers threaded into Erik's hair, massaging his scalp lightly, and Erik let his eyes slip closed.

The heat built again slowly, soft kisses growing deep until Charles was writhing in Erik's arms, their hips moving together in a sinuous harmony. Charles gasped against Erik's mouth, tipped his head back, and Erik fell mindlessly upon his throat, sucking at its pale hollow.

"Please," Charles murmured, and Erik didn't know what he wanted but it seemed that nothing could be the wrong thing, not now, in this bed, where the rest of the world ceased to exist.

"Charles," Erik breathed. They were rutting against each other in earnest, now, the head of Charles's cock rubbing slick against Erik's stomach, his own sliding in the groove of Charles's pelvis, and God, it was good, the feeling of another solid male body against his, the firm heat of Charles's arousal like a brand. Charles clutched at him, ground himself up against Erik's body, and they both groaned, panting against each other's mouths, everything dissolved into sweat and skin and sex and the rhythm of their bodies and their breath.

“You know,” Charles said afterwards while he idly traced his fingertips along Erik’s stomach. “I’d have never thought I’d get this again. I’d half-resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to become a monk eventually.”

Erik laughed at that. “Why? It’s not like women detested the very sight of you.”

“No,” Charles smiled back. “But there hasn’t really been anyone since I broke up with Moira after you left.” He pointedly avoided looking at Erik who stared at him as though Charles had just told him he was pregnant.

“You did _what_?”

“I broke up with Moira after you left. A week later or so.”

“But, Charles… Why?”

Charles glanced up at him. His cheeks were reddening slightly. “As I said, I realised eventually what a complete wanker I had been to you, and what my feelings for you were. Or rather _are_. And, well --” He shrugged. “I thought it wasn’t fair to Moira to pretend I loved her when I didn’t. Not really.”

Erik blinked slowly. Charles was a solid warmth under his arm, all firm muscle and smooth pale skin. Erik tipped his face slightly, pressed a pensive kiss to the top of Charles's head. "But why...why didn't you get in touch?"

Charles laughed bitterly. "Would it have made a difference?"

 _Yes_ , Erik wanted to scream, _yes, you idiot!_ If Charles had called Erik back a week after that fateful trip, and said he was sorry...God. Erik couldn't even count the number of things that would have been different about his life now. He'd never have got back with Magda. He'd never have got engaged. He'd never have got _married_ just in time for Charles to waltz back into his life and fuck everything up.

Oh, Jesus. This, all of this, was the last thing Erik had wanted for Magda or for his mother, but it was too late now. He sighed.

"I don't know what to do," he confessed quietly. "Magda..."

"Shh," Charles said, something about his voice urgent, desperate. "Just...kiss me, Erik."

It wasn't a real solution, Erik knew. It was nothing at all, in the grand scheme of things. But when his mouth met Charles's, he could lose himself, if only for a moment. And sometimes, a moment was enough.

*

While knowing that Charles was in love with him -- a fierce sort of love that brought with it such devotion and faith -- made Erik happy, it also created a series of new problems and situations for both of them that were more than dubious and complicated.

Of course they wanted to spend every minute with each other. And of course this was simply not possible. Erik felt guilty enough for betraying Magda in such a way; it didn’t help that Charles looked ever so fucking hopeful to snatch at least _some_ of Erik’s precious time during lunch break or whenever Magda had other things to do. Of course, in his heart he knew that he would have to make a choice. At least Charles had come back to him before he and Magda had had children, or moved away, or set up a business venture together, or anything that would make their lives even more difficult to disentangle.

And then Erik would realise he was thinking about disentangling himself from Magda, and that made him feel guilty all over again, because he knew that, when it came down to it, if he had to choose, he would choose Charles. Charles, who had wounded him so deeply all those years ago; who had abandoned him and then come back to him at the worst possible moment. Magda had never hurt him, never put him in a difficult position, never done anything to deserve being betrayed or abandoned, and yet, there was no logic to Erik's feelings. There was only Charles, and the soul-deep ache of Erik's love for him, an old open wound that could never be healed.

Erik couldn't bring himself to think about _choosing_ , knowing how it would turn out. So, in a way, he just repressed the fact that this could never end well. Charles, he knew, felt just as bad about it, or almost. They'd meet in Charles's office, lock the door and kiss like teenagers on the carpet until Charles had to go teach another class; or, worse, in Erik's car, parked somewhere inconspicuous enough that nobody would notice the two grown men making out frantically in the back seat. Actually finding somewhere to have sex was more difficult, but Charles had an apartment, and a lunchbreak, and if they were quick, they could manage some frantic, desperate sex and still be back to work on time, albeit a little rumpled.

Things were...going. Erik couldn't tell if they were going _well_ or on the verge of destruction, but they were going. And Charles was with him; Charles loved him. It shouldn't have filled him with enough joy to overpower all his fears, but for some reason, for now, it did.

They were careful, too. Erik could cover Charles’s body in possessive lovebites as he pleased, and he indulged in that with much dedication, but Charles had to check himself often enough. He couldn’t get carried away and mark Erik as his -- Erik had to remind him of that every so often. Carefulness was their first priority -- neither of them was keen on Magda finding out.

But even Erik, scrupulous, precise Erik couldn’t always keep everything under his control.

And so it happened that, eventually, Magda was bound to find out.

It wasn’t a love bite on his neck or the smell of another person on his clothes -- he and Charles smelled rather alike, and even then Magda knew they were spending a good amount of their time together and thus it was nothing strange to smell like the other.

No. The thing, the one and only thing that roused Magda’s suspicions only occurred because of one unguarded moment on Erik’s part: he left his phone charging in the kitchen while he went to take a shower.

Usually, Magda wouldn’t have given much thought to it. She wasn’t one to snoop around in Erik’s belongings. It didn’t strike her as peculiar that sometimes he came home later. After all, his work was going well and with better job positions came greater responsibility. She probably wouldn’t have noticed the little message lighting up the screen of Erik’s iPhone if it hadn’t been lying directly next to where she was chopping vegetables for their dinner. She only glanced as much at it, but a glance quickly turned into an incredulous stare when she read the words, _I miss you._

Erik had no family left, Magda knew that. Her heart began to beat fast. There was nobody she could think of who would send Erik a text like that, except...

Charles? In her momentary panic, she'd neglected to notice his name at the top of the message. Her racing heartbeat began to slow, but it still seemed...odd. Charles had seen Erik only earlier that day, Magda knew. And of course they were close, but this still struck her as odd.

She knew she should have just put down the phone and put it out of her mind. Charles and Erik were close friends, and Magda had no reason to pry into that. But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Her finger hovered over the lock screen.

A sharp breath, and it was done. Erik's conversation with Charles was open on the screen, and Magda's breath caught in her throat. The words on the screen didn't seem to make any sense.

_I wish you were here to kiss me goodnight_

_I dreamed about you last night_

_The moment I get to you, I'm going to suck you until you scream_

Magda dropped the phone with a clatter.

*

Erik emerged from the bathroom wearing only his grey pyjama trousers with a towel around his neck, whistling some random tune that had been stuck in his head ever since he had heard it on the radio on his way home. He walked over to Magda who was standing in the kitchen, loading their dinner onto plates. Erik slipped an arm around her middle and kissed her neck. “Smells delicious,” he murmured against her ear. Magda flinched.

As he pulled away, he looked at her with a frown. “Are you all right?” he asked as he tried to turn her around, making her face him. She was actually trembling, and Erik wondered what could have possibly upset her that much while he took a quick shower. Maybe her parents --

“Here,” she eventually said with a strained voice and pushed his phone against his chest. “You may want to check your phone.”

He still didn’t understand what she was talking about but he obliged nonetheless. Magda turned away from him again, her hands gripping the kitchen counter’s edge as though she needed to hold on to it just so she wouldn’t do anything else, and Erik opened his text messages and --

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of cold ice over his head. His stomach immediately dropped as soon as he saw Charles’s latest reply to the conversation they'd been having before he had got into his car and driven home.

“How --” he started, seemingly loss at words for once.

“Please tell me this is just some tasteless joke.” Magda interrupted him, still not facing him. Erik couldn’t tell whether she was crying or trying not to scream at him.

“Magda, I --” He stopped. Closed his mouth. Then tried again. “Why did you check my messages?”

“I wasn’t snooping around, in case you’ve got the cheek to suggest that,” she shot back defensively. “It’s not _my fault_ when you leave your phone unattended and the stupid screen lights up when you get a new message. Erik --” She exhaled shakily, bowed her head.

Erik stepped forward and reached out towards her, his fingers barely grazing her shoulder when she suddenly jerked away from him, snarling, “Don’t fucking touch me!” With wide eyes he stared at her. He had never seen his wife this upset -- she wasn’t crying, no, but her face was twisted into a grimace of anger and confusion, and the corners of her eyes were wet. Erik instantly regretted everything he had ever done with Charles.

“Please, let me explain…” he began but Magda just grabbed an empty dish and let out her anger by throwing it onto the floor.

“Fuck you, Erik,” she said, her voice now thick with tears, and then left the kitchen to lock herself up in their bedroom.


	11. Chapter 11

Erik didn’t text or call Charles that night. Guilt was weighing too heavily on his shoulders and it was hard to fall asleep on the couch when his mind was racing and playing the argument over and over again. That one small part of him that had breathed a sigh of relief at Magda finally knowing where Erik’s heart truly was, had been crushed out rather quickly at the sight of Magda’s face. Somehow, he managed to fall into a restless slumber, and when he awoke, his wife was sitting in the armchair across from the couch and eyeing him warily.

“What time is it?” he croaked, his voice rough like sandpaper.

“Nine thirty. It’s Saturday, in case you wanted to go to work.”

Demurely, he shook his head, eyes anywhere but on her.

“Erik,” Magda then said, clearing her throat. “I think we need to talk. Not yet -- I’m… I’m too angry to even bear the sight of you but… We need to talk about this.”

“Yes.”

“I phoned my parents. I’m going to stay with them until I feel I’m ready to… you know…”

With some difficulty, Erik managed to muster a hopeful smile for her, but it was weak and lacked enthusiasm. “Of course.”

“Well then.” She got up from the armchair and straightened out her clothes before she grabbed the little bag standing beside her, which Erik hadn’t noticed before.

“You’re leaving _now_?”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”

And with that, she passed him and was on her way out. Erik turned his head as he followed her with his gaze and called out just when she had reached the door. “Magda?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

She sighed with a shake of her head. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Erik. If you were truly sorry, you wouldn’t have fucked someone else behind my back in the first place.”

Erik didn’t even get to reply to that -- she had left already by the time he had thought of a comeback.

*

The sound of the phone ringing jolted Erik out of a fitful sleep. It was two days since Magda had left; Erik should have been at work, but he couldn't bring himself to face a Monday morning and act as if everything was hunky-dory. Charles had texted him several times over the weekend, and Erik had fobbed him off with two-word messages. His mind felt dulled, the edges of it blunted. He couldn't believe this had happened. It felt like a nightmare, or a dream. He wasn't yet sure which. 

He rolled over in bed, fumbling for the phone. The double mattress still felt empty and cold without someone else -- without Magda -- in it. "Hello?" 

"Are you gay?" 

Magda's voice was matter-of-fact, carefully so, as if she'd practised this. Erik sighed. "Mags, I...I don't know." It was true enough. 

"Look." Magda was being patient with him, and Erik dreaded to think what it must have cost her. "Let me make it easier for you. Do you love me?" 

"Magda, _yes_." That, certainly, was true; Erik's chest ached with it. "I've known you so long; I care about you so much...I never wanted to hurt you." 

Magda exhaled, and Erik could hear the resignation in it. "Erik, I know that. Okay? I know there's not a malicious bone in your body. But that doesn't answer my question, and we both know it." She hesitated a moment. "I know you love me. But are you _in_ love with me?" A pause, and then, "Or are you in love with Charles?" 

Erik bowed his head. Shame rushed over him like water closing over him. "Charles and I…" His voice was breaking. "I didn't think he'd ever come back, Mags. I loved you enough that if there'd been no Charles in the picture, we would have been happy, but…" 

"You loved him first." Magda's voice was flat, and Erik nodded, although of course she couldn't see it. 

"I'm sorry." His voice was thick with unshed tears. "I should never have -- I should have told him --" 

"No." Magda cut him off mid-flow, her voice harsh. "That's not where you went wrong, Erik. Charles came back _before_ we got married. If you knew then how you still felt about him…" She sighed. "We should have called it off." 

"I know," Erik said, his voice very small. "But he never wanted me, Mags. He always just...he acted like…" He stopped. He didn't know that he had the energy to explain this to his -- wife? Soon-to-be ex-wife? Dear God, he'd fucked everything up irrevocably. 

On the other end of the phone, Magda cleared her throat, and Erik could hear the reluctant sympathy in her voice. "Oh, Erik. Why didn't you tell me you were in love with him? I would have helped you, you know. We could have been such good friends. You didn't have to marry me." 

"Mother loved you," Erik said, hardly a whisper. "I didn't want her to know…"

"That you were gay?" This time, the sympathy in Magda's voice was open, overwhelming the hurt. "Erik, babe. She adored you. Of course she would have loved you all the same, no matter what." 

*

Magda came home the next morning. Of course, things were going to be different from hereon out, but Erik couldn't hold himself back from hugging her fiercely when she came through the door, still cold and damp from outside. 

"I'm so sorry," Erik was murmuring, voice muffled in her coat. "I'm --" 

"Yeah, yeah." Magda pushed him back and eyed him critically. "I've had time to think on it, and I don't know why I never figured it out before now. The more important factor is, what have you told Charles?" 

Erik looked at the floor. "Nothing." 

Magda rolled her eyes theatrically. "Right, well. That has to change. If you're going to fuck up our marriage, the least you can do is manage to get properly together with Charles." She fumbled for her phone, presented it to Erik. "Call him. Issue him an ultimatum. Tell him I know." 

Erik eyed her for a long moment after he had hesitantly taken the phone from her. “Why are you so calm about this?”

Magda shrugged. “I think I’d have ripped your cock off if you had cheated on me with another woman, Erik. A man, however…” She sighed and it seemed as though all tension flowed right out of her body. “It’s different, you know? A man is not competition for me in a way that another woman would be. If you're gay, well -- of course I can't give you what you want. It's not my fault.” Erik returned Magda’s half-hearted smile. “Besides,” she then added, and Erik noticed the slight sad shift in her voice, “it would’ve been worse if I had been pregnant. Or if we’d already had children. I don’t care about myself when it comes to ruined marriages, but I wouldn’t want my hypothetical children to suffer through a divorce.”

“I know,” was all Erik said before he embraced her once more and hugged her tightly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t,” she agreed. “I suppose that’s why I’m going to divorce you first. But I will miss the sex.”

They both laughed helplessly at that joke, horrible as it was, and Erik was quietly grateful that Magda was understanding enough and wouldn’t want to make his life living hell.

That afternoon, Erik finally called Charles. When he picked up, Erik was greeted with a “What the fuck is going on, Lehnsherr? I’m worried half-sick about you and I’ve got no fucking clue what you’re up to, if you’re pissed at me or maybe even in the _bloody hospital_!”

“Charles, calm do -- what? The hospital? Why would I be in the hospital?”

“Well, what do I know? You barely talked to me for the past week, so I’m thinking of all the possible options!”

Erik sighed heavily. "Well, I suppose you have Magda to thank for the fact that I'm not in the hospital." 

Charles hesitated for a long moment. Then, "What?" 

Erik took a deep breath. "She knows, Charles." 

Charles's sputter of surprise was audible. "What?" 

Erik sighed again. "It's okay. We talked about it. She understands, and thank god she doesn't hate me. But, Charles... I hope to god you mean this." He hesitated a moment. "I want you. I want to be with you. I hope you are ready for that."

*

The café was overcrowded with people. Erik sat at a table near the entrance with a good view out of the window. He watched people pass by the building, pigeons fighting over bread crumbs and children chasing after said pigeons when their parents weren’t looking. Nervously, his right leg jiggled up and down. He was too nervous to even think of reading the book he had brought along with him; it didn’t help that the caffeine from his second cup of coffee was working its magic. Old couples were enjoying their coffee and cake, young girls met up to gossip over their favourite latte macchiato, and wannabe writers thought they were being awfully artistic and so very _Hemingway_ by sitting huddled alone in booths with their laptops, their untouched cupcake and a cup of tea or coffee which had gone cold long before they had managed to write an entire paragraph.

Charles was supposed to be here half an hour ago. It would be the first time they’d see each other again after The Phone Call. At this point, Erik’s nerves were so strained, he feared they’d soon snap if Charles didn’t show up. Some tiny voice of doubt at the back of his mind whispered to him that it was still very likely that Charles would get cold feet and stand him up. It wouldn’t have been the first time that Erik had taken a step towards Charles only to have Charles taking two steps backwards. Now he had even given up his comfortable life, his marriage with Magda, just to be with him.

Poor Magda. God, he really had never deserved her. Erik still sort of felt as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for her to give him the reaming-out his behaviour warranted. The fact that she'd been so calm about it all, so resigned, made him wonder whether she'd suspected already. She hadn't seemed exactly surprised. Erik wasn't sure what to make of that. But she'd seen him and Charles together for years, after all. Perhaps their interactions hadn't been as glibly platonic in public as Charles had wanted them to be. 

Erik was still lost in this thought, gazing into his cup, when he heard a familiar voice say shyly, "Hi." 

He looked up. Charles, of course, _at last_ , cheeks flushed pink from the wind, his hair ruffled. Erik wanted to berate him for his lateness, but somehow he ended up grinning anyway, out of relief more than anything. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming." 

"Erik…" Charles looked stricken, genuinely so. A part of Erik was gratified. "The traffic was horrendous, but please don't think -- "

"Do you blame me?" Erik cut in, bluntly. His meanderings about Magda had sharpened the edge of his resolve on this issue. If it hadn't been for Charles, he could have been happy with her -- _content_ with her, at least -- for the rest of his life. But Charles had showed up and exploded Erik's life again, and if he was going to do that, he was damn well going to put his money where his mouth was. "I suppose I thought maybe you'd changed your mind about being seen with me in public." 

Charles's mouth twisted. The flash of pain across his face was evident, but Erik waited it out, eyes locked on Charles's. Then Charles took a deep breath, set his hand on Erik's shoulder. 

"No," he said, softly. "No." 

The kiss was gentle at first, but sure, and Erik opened to it without even thinking. Charles's fingers found their way into his hair, and then they were kissing properly, Charles's tongue stroking over Erik's, the taste of him familiar and beloved. When Charles drew back, his eyes were wet. 

Around them, the café bustled on exactly as before. The hipster writers were still frowning helplessly at their laptops. The girls were still giggling over their coffees. The world went on turning, but for Erik, something fundamental had shifted. 

"Hello," he said, his throat a little hoarse. Charles smiled, pulled out the other chair, and sat down. 

"So," he said, "I think we have some things to discuss."

“Yes,” Charles nodded and took one of Erik’s hands in his. “But first you tell me how Magda found out. I want every detail.”

While Erik told Charles everything about Magda’s discovery and why he hadn’t had the heart to call Charles for a while afterwards, they continued to hold hands with Charles alternately giving Erik a gentle squeeze or dropping a kiss on his knuckles. This -- sitting here in some little café and holding hands and sharing the occasional sweet kiss -- was so much more than the teenage version of Erik could have ever dreamed of receiving from his best friend.

*

“Is this the last box?”

“I hope to God that it is. I don’t think I can lift another box of your stupid Biology books up the stairs.”

“Oh, Erik, you know I appreciate you sharing your Germanic strength with me. I’ll make it up to you later on.”

“Promise?” Erik grunted as he lifted up what felt like the twentieth box full of Charles’s heavy books. He stubbornly refused to acknowledge how his muscles had started quivering half an hour ago, protesting under the weight of Charles’s belongings.

“Promise,” Charles laughed quietly and pressed a kiss to Erik’s cheek. He himself carried a much smaller box with God knew what in it.

“Ugh, you two really _are_ disgustingly sweet,” a voice piped up from behind, startling both men. Erik almost dropped the box but managed to catch it just in time. As they turned around, Magda came walking towards them with a smile on her lips.

“Magda,” Erik greeted her and gave her cheek a light peck. Charles, however, stood next to them rather awkwardly, cheeks pink.

“Hello, homewrecker,” she grinned at Charles who in return looked even more miserable.

“Magda, I’m so sorry --”

“Shush.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s okay, Charlie. Well, it’s not entirely fine, and I still have to learn to deal with it but I can’t stay mad at either of you for too long. I have to admit you two really make a lovely pair.”

Erik sighed and cupped her face for a moment. "You see, you really were far too good for me all along." 

"Too right," Magda said archly, "but I got an apartment out of it, so…" 

Erik poked her with a toe. "Are you here to help, or just criticise?" 

"Looks like you have everything under control," Magda said innocently, watching Erik staggering under the weight of his latest box. "I cleared out my half of the wardrobe, I don't know what else I could contribute." 

Charles still looked awkward. "Magda --" 

"Shhh." Magda cut him off with a look. "I know you feel weird around me, but there's really nothing you can say that'll change that. Let's just acknowledge the weirdness, and the fact that it'll go away with time. I mean, turns out my husband is gay. That's not my fault, and it's not his either, or yours." She paused. "Much." 

"The lawyer said we should have the papers by next weekend," Erik said, setting down his box at last in front of one of the bookcases.

"Good." Magda folded her arms across her chest. "Because I have a date, and I'd like to be able to tell him I'm in the process of getting divorced, rather than just hoping to be." 

"You have a date?" Erik raised one eyebrow, and Magda frowned. 

"You've relinquished your right to have an opinion on that, buddy. Now…" She crossed to the huge box Erik had just put down, and began peeling the tape off the seam. "Shall we start putting these up?" 

Later that night, when they were both lying in their bed for the first time together as a couple that finally lived together, Charles asked with a small frown, “Magda’s still pissed at me, isn’t she?”

Erik, fingertips grazing up and down the nape of Charles’s neck, just shrugged. “Maybe a bit. But then I suppose I’d rather have that than some drama going on with the divorce.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Charles sighed and then planted a light kiss upon Erik’s throat. “Who would have thought that almost ten years later, we’d finally be together? Let alone _live_ together?”

“Who knows what else we’ll achieve over the next ten years?”

“World domination _at the very least_ , Erik.”

Erik laughed, cupped Charles's jaw and kissed him gently. "Overachiever." 

"Always," Charles said, and his smile was the only thing Erik wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life.


End file.
